Hostage to Love

by Maggi Andersen

  Henrietta jumped up. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Not this time, Henrietta.” Verity looked imploringly at Anthony.

  “Best you stay here, Hetta,” Anthony said. “Verity can move about with comparative safety. You cannot.”

  Henrietta frowned, and opened her mouth to argue, but at the expression on her father’s face she lowered her head.

  Henrietta didn’t trust her and wanted to keep her within sight. She sought to distract her. “I’ll bring some costumes back with me. One for each of us. We must travel in disguise when the time comes.”

  Anthony’s smiled and shook his head. “I refuse to be Columbine. Or shall I be his father, Pantaloon?”

  Her heart warmed to see him smile. “Whatever I can find.”

  Philippe’s health improved daily, even though he fretted over Josette. François expressed the view that another week or two would see him on the mend. Josette’s treatment had probably saved his life. “The inflammation has faded. He needs rest now.”

  Stripped to the waist, Anthony shaved and washed his hair in a barrel outside the back door. Verity worried that he still looked tired. She’d heard him prowling at night outside the room she shared with Henrietta. He would become sick too if he didn’t rest.

  When the carriage arrived, he escorted her inside. “You will be careful?”

  He had no idea how dangerous Paris had become for her. She patted his cheek with her gloved hand. “Paris is my city.”

  “No longer the city of your memories. Do everything you can to come back safely.” Anthony kissed her hand, his eyes searching hers. “God speed.”

  He shut the door. As the carriage rolled away down the lane, she looked back to see him standing with his hand raised in farewell. She searched in her reticule for her handkerchief to wipe away the flood of tears. Her fingers touched the reassuring cold steel of her pistol. She wondered if word had reached Danton that she’d returned to Paris. He would now know Anthony had escaped capture, and he would be suspicious of her. She needed to think carefully and keep one step ahead of him.

  The iron-shod horses’ hooves clattered over the pebbled road alongside the river. The trees were turning russet and gold, the air crisper. She gripped her handkerchief at an overwhelming sense of urgency. Madness to delay too long. They must be gone before the rivers froze and snow banked up along the roads.

  What would happen to her after they left? Could she return to the stage? A shaft of loneliness brought another sob to her lips. She’d desperately tried to keep those feelings at bay. Her love for Anthony had made her weak. Struggling to regain her composure, she stared out the window. A sailboat’s red sail caught by the sun sent crimson reflections over the rippling water. A couple strolled along the bank, the woman holding a pretty parasol. In this charming place, it might be possible for some to disbelieve the dreadful events unfolding in Paris. But not her. Fear and loss lodged in her heart; a heavy weight she suspected would never lighten.

  The carriage rounded a bend. The driver yelled out and pulled on the reins, the horses rearing and plunging.

  “What is it?” Verity thrust her head out of the window.

  A rider blocked their way. She was riding bare-back, with her linen gown hitched up over her thighs.

  “Mon dieu! Henrietta!” Verity called. “How did you manage to get ahead of us?”

  The roan danced away from the carriage horses. Henrietta brought the horse back with a firm hand. “I borrowed your uncle’s mare and took the trail through the woods. I need to know what you intend to do.”

  Despite the danger, Verity half-suspected Henrietta had begun to enjoy the freedom this escapade afforded her. “I told you. I am going in search of news of my father.”

  Henrietta’s eyes narrowed. “What if you must make a choice between my father and yours?”

  “I promise you, nothing I do will endanger you or your father. Have I not done enough to earn your trust?”

  Henrietta tilted her head, her eyes filled with doubt. “You may find yourself in a very difficult position.”

  “I will not betray you. You must believe me, Henrietta.”

  “Then I’ll await your return. If you don’t return in a day or so, my father will learn the truth. Then he can decide what to do.” Henrietta turned the horse and galloped away.

  “The woods are not safe!” Verity shouted after her. Exasperated, Verity watched Henrietta disappear among the trees without looking back. That girl was so stubborn and willful it was entirely possible she’d chosen not to heed her warning.

  Was this driver trustworthy, or would he tell the guards in the village? She considered the wisdom of offering him a small bribe from her diminishing purse, but decided against it. That would only make him more curious.

  * * *

  Henrietta cantered along the woodland path between the oaks, beeches, and chestnut trees, scattering leaves over the ground. The horse pricked up its ears and tossed its head. She patted her neck. “What is it? A fox?”

  Out of the corner of her eyes she saw shadows moving through the trees. Sensing danger she urged the mare on, taking an overgrown path. Henrietta ducked her head as low branches whipped by her. They splashed across a stream. At the top of a rise, the horse pulled up. Men’s voices rang out alarmingly close. A warning shiver traveled down her spine. She patted the horse’s neck, chose a narrow gap in the undergrowth, and nudged her flank. This time the mare obeyed, jumping a moss-covered log. Back on the trail again she rode on, scattering leaves, pebbles, and dirt in their wake. Ahead, sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves, creating a patch of brilliant green in the gloom and they burst out into a meadow.

  Should she be followed, Henrietta wasn’t about to lead the men to the cottage. She urged the horse forward. They vaulted a low fence and galloped across the meadow. She took cover behind a copse of beeches and watched the rim of forest. No one followed. She rode home, confident she’d lost them.

  By the time, Henrietta dismounted and led the horse through the gate to the stables, her confidence had evaporated. She removed the bit from the horse’s mouth and hung the bridle back on the hook. She brushed the mare down and led her into a stall. Could her reckless action have brought unwanted attention to François’ door? There was nothing for it. She had to warn her father.

  He sat alone in the parlor. He put a finger to his lips and led her outside. “Now, what happened?”

  Her father listened, while she blurted it out from beginning to end.

  “My dear girl.” He brushed a finger over on her cheek. “It’s because of you and Verity that I’m standing here. Promise you’ll be careful, Hetta. You are not at home in the English countryside. We don’t know who these men are. Stay within sight of the house. Wait for Verity to return.”

  They wandered along the garden path. “We’ll decide what to do then. While we remain here it endangers François, and I don’t wish to test the man’s commitment by overstaying our welcome.”

  “You don’t trust him, Papa?”

  His gaze met hers. “I’ve seen nothing to cause me to distrust him. Why?”

  “I’m not sure.” Henrietta was still debating whether to tell her father the truth about the reason behind Verity’s trip to London. She said she would wait and, so she must. And she’d hate to upset him when he was already in low spirits. But there was something she had to confess. She took a deep breath. “Papa, I have something to tell you.”

  “Dear heaven, you look so stricken. What is it, Hetta?”

  “I gave away the Beaumont sapphires to buy your escape.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You did?” He threw his head back and laughed. “How resourceful you are.” Relieved, she grinned as he enfolded her in a hug. “When we return to London, I’ll have a matching set made for you.”

  “They were very nice jewels.” She was delighted to have impressed him.

  Her thoughts returned to François. Something in his manner made her doubt him although she couldn’t pinpoint
the reason. He would hardly be described as a charming man. He reminded her of the groom once in her father’s employ. She’d always felt odd around him too, and when he was caught red-handed selling property he’d stolen from them, her instincts had been proven to be right. But everyone else seemed able to trust François. In a life and death situation, she needed more than her instincts to go by.

  She needed proof.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In Paris, the smell of death was thick in the air, and the news people on the streets relayed to Verity in hushed voices, unbelievably grim. The power-hungry Girondins were filled with blood-lust. She cringed at the sight of bodies left to molder in the streets, stripped of their boots and coats. Anyone accused of being an aristocrat was run through with a pike or rounded up and sent to the guillotine. She was stopped twice by sans culottes demanding her papers as her fear for her father’s fate increased.

  Verity walked over the bridge to the Île de la Cité. She shuddered at the sight of the medieval walls of the Conciergerie prison where all prisoners condemned to death, waited. The clock on the corner tower of the Palais de Justice struck twelve as she crossed the Pont au Change.

  She steeled herself and entered the office of the newly appointed Minister of Justice. Danton’s big head bowed over papers on his desk. “And to whom do we thank for your return to Paris, citizeness?”

  She clasped her hands tightly in front to hide their shaking. “I’m afraid Beaumont was not as enamored of me as you hoped. Once he held left London for his country estate, I saw no reason to remain.”

  He stared at her. “You didn’t feel it judicious to await my instructions?”

  “What possible good would it do for me to stay there? The English actors resented me. I wanted to return to work in a Paris theatre. And my father is here somewhere.”

  With an indifferent glance he returned to his papers. “You look travel weary, mademoiselle. Not as appealing as usual.”

  “I apologize for my appearance. My life lacks the elegance I once enjoyed.” She spread her hands. “My first thought was for my father.”

  “You have no knowledge of Beaumont’s whereabouts?”

  “Non. Please, is my father well? Where is he?”

  He looked down at his desk. Shuffled papers. “I’ll make inquiries.”

  She should have gone home and changed. She lost her bargaining power dressed like this. She looked like a washerwoman. “I did my best to carry out your wishes. Surely you intend to keep your word.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You’ve failed with the viscount, mademoiselle. He has come to France of his own accord.”

  She widened her eyes. “He is in Paris?”

  “He has just escaped from a Paris prison!” he thundered, thumping his fist on the desk. Papers jumped, and pens were sent sliding.

  His sudden violence, made her tremble. Verity inhaled sharply. Raised her chin. “Escape from prison? Unbelievable.”

  “Nevertheless, he did. He came to France to rescue his brother-in-law. But I will find him. I will find them both! They cannot leave the country without my learning of it.”

  “I’m sure you will, Monsieur Danton. You never fail. You’ve built a wonderful network which is of great credit to you.”

  He looked mollified as he straightened his pens. Her flattery had calmed him, but she risked upsetting him again. “If Beaumont has spoken out against your cause in the English Parliament, then so have many others. Why is he so important to you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Beaumont is one of the Englishmen who’ve joined with the émigrés to form an army which will move against France. His head upon a pike will be a deterrent.”

  “Lord Beaumont is involved in such exploits? It does not fit with the man I met.”

  “You slept with him did you not? You learned nothing from bed talk?”

  She flushed. “He spends most of his time on his estate. He made no mention of an army. I don’t believe it.”

  “Whether you do or not, is of no interest to me.”

  “I still don’t understand why you’ve singled out Beaumont.”

  His demeanor changed. A soft light entered his eyes, and he gazed beyond her into the distance. “Beaumont’s wife was the woman I planned to marry, when I had risen high enough in the government to woo her. He snatched her away from France. Removed her from her family, her country. Anna St André was an exquisite woman. Any man would have been most fortunate to have her as his wife.”

  Stunned, Verity listened as he expressed passionate feelings for Beaumont’s dead wife. He could never have married an aristocrat’s daughter. “Lady Beaumont died some years ago.”

  He shrugged. “There is a daughter from the union. I’m told she is the image of her mother.”

  Danton was married. Did this madman believe his powerful position would open all doors for him in revolutionary France? That he could take Henrietta for his mistress? Anthony had got the better of Danton all those years ago. This was pure revenge, and he’d harbored it for a very long time. A shiver ran down Verity spine, horrified that while Henrietta remained on French soil she was vulnerable, especially when Danton had spies in every corner of France.

  “I don’t know what her mother was like. I did not hear that expressed. But I didn’t find her particularly beautiful or charming.” She shrugged, adopting indifference. “Beaumont mentioned she was a troublesome chit. It can no longer be of importance to you, surely.”

  “Matters of the heart never fade. I will have her, and I will put an end to him. Capture the father and the daughter may follow.”

  “She would never follow her father to France. She is soon to become engaged to an Englishman. But if Lord Beaumont is in France, as you say, then our agreement is at an end. Will you now honor your promise and free my father?”

  He glared at her. “You have failed, Mademoiselle Garnier.” He leaned forward. “There is still a chance for you, however. Bring Beaumont’s daughter to me and I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”

  Verity stared at the massive, coarse-featured man. His voice so loud it almost rattled the windows. It served him well as an orator, but was off-putting when close. “That’s impossible. She would hardly listen to me. She took a dislike to me.”

  “Then you are a poor actress.” He stroked his chin. “I might send men to assist you, but as things stand here…” Verity held her breath. He shook his head. “You’ve proved to be useless and a waste of my time.” He flicked his hand toward the door. “Get out.”

  She stumbled from Danton’s rooms. Power sent men mad. She was sure of it. She rubbed her arms and hurried down the stairs. Her failure to please him would place her on a list, and her life might now be in danger. Particularly if he spoke to Jacques Rocchard about her. After she smashed a vase over his head, Jacques would be only too pleased to give her away. News of her appearance at the prison could reach Danton too.

  She had to find another way to free her father.

  Verity stood at the entrance to the dungeons of the Conciergerie where her father had been sent. A large pool of dried blood lay on the cobbles and stained the nearby brick wall. The stench of death remained. She picked up her skirts and walked to the guard room door. Boisterous soldiers were crowded inside.

  A guard sauntered over to her, a pistol stuck in his belt. “What do you want, mademoiselle?”

  “Can you tell me if Professor Florent Garnier is here in the cells?”

  He bold gaze roamed over her, then fixed on her breasts. “What is your interest in him, citizeness?”

  “He is my father.”

  “Wait here.” The guards all turned to study her.

  A bulky man with a pock-marked face detached himself from the group. She cringed while he subjected her to intense scrutiny. “What will you give for that information?”

  Verity straightened her shoulders. “I’m here at the bequest of Citizen Danton.”

  He raised an inquiring eyebrow. Danton’s name worked like magic again for he swiveled a
nd went back to the guard room.

  When he returned, he smiled as if he had pleasant news. “Professor Garnier is not here, citizeness.”

  “Where… where has he been sent?”

  He shrugged. “If you and I spent time together, I can find out.”

  She looked down at herself. A ragged border of mud stained the hem of her gown, her shoes were scuffed. Her appearance safeguarded her in the streets, but it also made her look like fair game to any man who wished to lift her skirts and have his way with her. He didn’t know where her father was. She shook her head and hurried away.

  * * *

  Christian had no luck locating Henrietta’s whereabouts. With fear gnawing at his gut, he walked the streets, wondering where he might try next. Paris ran with blood, and the people he passed either looked furtive or resigned. The last shred of hope for the king’s release faded as he awaited trial. The Tuileries had been invaded, and the king forced to bow to rampaging peasants. Marie Antoinette’s friend, Princesse de Lamballe, had been raped and murdered, her head placed atop a pike and paraded beneath the Queen’s windows at the Temple.

  The September massacre emptied the dungeons of the Conciergerie, the occupants brutally slain in the courtyards without the right of a hearing. The Girondins had accused Danton and the Incorruptible, Robespierre, who had done nothing to stop it. The sans culottes had murdered half the Paris population, many of them women, boys, and priests. All available young men were sent to fight in the Patriot army against the Austrians and the Prussians. Citizens in red capes presided over the tribunals, which were absent of law and protocol. They sent almost all the prisoners to their deaths. France had become very dangerous for Christian. Now that war with England loomed, any Englishman found in France was labeled a counterrevolutionary and summarily executed.

  Christian had defied his orders by returning to Paris, such insubordination placed him in a bad light. He knew he had some explaining to do to his spymaster when he returned to England. The best he could hope for was that he was judged fairly and allowed to resign. What he had witnessed in the last few years had removed any trace of the youthful enthusiasm he’d had to create a better world. He should return to England straight away, time was not on his side. But the possibility that Henrietta might be caught here and embroiled in this horror made it impossible.