Velvet v-3

by Jane Feather

  They came to a small church with cracked, moldering stone walls and slates tumbling from a sagging roof. Its tumbledown air struck Gabrielle as pathetic, like someone whose offers of comfort have been inexplicably spurned. She assumed it had fallen into disrepair during the Revolution, when organised religion was banned and no one had any use for churches.

  Nathaniel looked up and down the alley, then walked rapidly around the side of the building. A flight of crumbling stone steps led down into the crypt. Gabrielle followed him down. He felt in a niche in the wall, drew out a key, fitted it into the tarnished brass lock, and the door creaked open, emitting a waft of air, cold as the grave and heavy with the reek of ancient stone and damp earth.

  "I don't like it here," Jake whimpered as they entered the dank darkness and Nathaniel pulled the door closed behind them. "I want to go out."

  "Hush now, I'm here," Nathaniel soothed. "You're quite safe."

  "But it's spooky."

  "Yes, it is," Gabrielle agreed, making her voice bright and cheerful. "But I'm sure we can light the candle."

  "Can you find it?" Nathaniel asked in the same easy tones, as if this were all quite normal. "There's flint and tinder somewhere in the portmanteau."

  Gabrielle felt in the darkness through the small pile of possessions, found the requisite articles, and in aminute the welcoming glow of the candle threw some illumination.

  It was not a cheerful place, Gabrielle thought in understatement, looking around at the oozing stone walls, the cracked greenish slabs beneath her feet.

  "Is this another safe house?"

  "More like sanctuary," Nathaniel said as if it were perfectly ordinary to make witticisms in such circumstances. "The church is disused and the crypt's an emergency shelter to be used only in dire emergency," he added. "We should find some blankets and a lantern somewhere, and some basic supplies."

  "Over there." Gabrielle pointed to a tomb where afully armed stone knight stretched out in perpetuity, hands piously crossed over his breast. A mound of blankets and a lantern with asmall jar of oil stood at the base of the tomb. There was a flagon of water and several slabs of chocolate. A slop pail stood on the floor. Apart from that, there was nothing but the graves of the dead.

  "A trifle cheerless," Gabrielle observed in what she hoped was a tone to match Nathaniel's. "Let's see if this will make a difference." She filled the lantern with oil and lit the wick.

  Jake promptly howled and buried his face in his father's shoulder as the grotesque shapes of armored knights and mitred stone bishops danced on the vaulted ceiling.

  Nathaniel gentled him, stroking his back as he sat on the tomb, settling the child in his lap. Jake pushed his thumb into his mouth and rocked himself in his father's arms, suddenly overcome with emotional and physical exhaustion.

  Nathaniel regarded Gabrielle, hiseyes unreadable intheflickeringgloom."Howdidyoufind outabout theraid?"

  "After I sent you the messagetelling youthat FoucheknewyouwereinParis-"

  "What message?" The interrogatorycrackled inthe dankchill."Igotonlyone,theday before yesterday, anditsaidnothingaboutFouche.”

  "But I sent you a message via theflower seller this morning…well,yesterdaymorningnow."

  "I never received it."

  "What could have happenedto it?"

  Nathaniel gazed bleakly over thechild's head. "It's abitlatetoworryaboutthatnow.How did he know I washere?"

  "One of his men spotted you,apparently. I assume therearepeoplewhowouldrecognizeyou."

  "It's never happened before,"Nathaniel said flatly. IfGabriellehadbetrayedhimtoFouche, why would shethenriskhernecktosavehim?Belated remorse? ThatseemedtooindecisiveforGabrielle. No, probably he'dbeenrecognizedatoneofthecheckpoints on the journeyfromCherbourg.Itwasalways a risk.

  "Well, it happened this time,"Gabrielle declared, tensionandfatigueputtingastingin her voice. "And thentonightIwasatasoireeatMadame de Stael's and Fouchewasboastingaboutsomecoup he was going to pulloff.Ididn'tknowifhemeanthe’dfound you, but IthoughtI'dbetterwarnyoujustin case. And then I ranintohismen…."Shespreadher hands, palm up

  "I suppose you followed themessenger yesterday?"

  She nodded.

  Nathaniel stroked Jake'shead thoughtfully. Gabriellehadriskedherlifetosave him. It had been a mostdecisivechoice.Hewrapped a blanket securely aroundtheshiveringchild.A permanent choice or simplyanemotionalresponse?

  "You'd better go back before you're missed," he said. "Jake and I will stay here for today, and move on this evening."

  Gabrielle stood looking at him in the gloom as he sat holding the child on the tomb. It was a dreadful place to spend the long hours of the day. The tensions of the night were apparent now in the taut lines of his face, shadowed with the blue tinge of his nighttime beard, and his eyes were sunken with fatigue.

  "I'll come back later, then." She went to the door.

  "Gabrielle." His voice was soft.

  "Yes." She turned back.

  "I owe you my life. Mine and Jake's." His face was in shadow, but she could sense his stillness, the deadly seriousness of his statement.

  "What else did you expect me to do when my spymaster was in danger?" She tried to invest the question with a lightness, as if it were partly a joke, but it didn't come out right. She sounded ungracious, impatient almost.

  "I don't know what I expected," he responded quietly.

  "Oh, well, I'm full of surprises." She tried a smile. "I'd better go. I'll come back this evening."

  Without waiting for a response, she slipped through the door into the now-clear light of dawn and left Nathaniel and his son in the lantern shadows of the crypt.

  Gabrielle de Beaucaire was certainly full of surprises, Nathaniel reflected. She'd made a choice that day that made no sense for the ruthless, skilled, and experienced opponent he knew her to be.

  Where did that leave his plans?

  Impossible to decide at this point. Jake stirred and whimpered in his arms, and Nathaniel stroked his head, murmuring soft words of reassurance until the child was still again.

  Nathaniel shifted on the tomb until his back was against the oozing wall of the crypt. He closed his eyes. Helen's face came to him in the dank, frigid air of this grim tomb… her face as it had been on her deathbed. White, bloodless, the lines of suffering smoothed by the hand of death. His hold tightened involuntarily around her child.

  Chapter 20

  It was eight o'clock that night when Nathaniel emerged from the crypt, holding Jake's hand, the portmanteau slung over his shoulder. He locked the door, replaced the key in the wall niche for the next person in dire need of sanctuary, and climbed the steps.

  Jake was silent, clinging to his father's hand. He was frightened, but his relief at leaving their hiding place far surpassed his fear. He was sucking a piece of chocolate, holding it in his cheek, the warm sweetness melting over his tongue. It reminded him of safe and comforting things like his bed in the nursery, and Neddy, and the way Primmy smelled when she kissed him, a faded, sweetish smell like the dried flowers in the still room.

  A tall, cloaked figure separated itself from the shadows at the top of the steps.

  Nathaniel froze even as recognition hit him. Jake jumped and spoke her name before he remembered he wasn't to speak.

  "Shh," Gabrielle said, putting a finger on her lips, smiling at him in the darkness.

  "What the hell do you mean, jumping out on me like that?" Nathaniel demanded in an outraged whisper. "I expected you in the crypt at dusk."

  "It took me a while to arrange everything," she whispered, seemingly unperturbed by his anger. "I have a laissez passer for you." Her crooked smile gleamed white in the gloom. "With it, you can go anywhere in the city… stay at an inn, travel wherever you wish."

  She reached into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out the precious document. "See. It's in the name of Gilbert Delors, a servant in the household of Monsieur le Prince de Talleyrand, who's instructed to journey to his master's estates in Perigord and is to be allowed to
pass without let or hindrance."

  "How on earth did you get hold of this?" He stared at the paper.

  "I stole it," she said. "You see, it's signed by Talleyrand's steward." She pointed to the signature. "The real Gilbert Delors has been turning the house upside down looking for it all day. When he came out of the steward's office, I had a most urgent errand for him to run, an armful of parcels that needed to be taken immediately to my chamber. He put the paper on the table when I filled his arms with packages… et voila."

  Nathaniel turned the document over in his hands. It was Jake's passport to safety. He could leave Paris, travel anywhere in the country without question. He could arrange passage on a regular paquet at Calais rather than wait in danger for the eventual return of the fishing boat.

  Gabrielle certainly didn't do things by halves, he thought. He had a sudden absurd urge to laugh, to fling his arms around her and dance a jig as relief coursed through his veins, and he felt his muscles relax as he stepped back from the brink of the precipice for the first time since they'd reached Paris.

  "Let's go and find some supper," he said. "And a decent bed."

  "Ah, well, I have that all planned too," Gabrielle said with a mysterious smile. "There are certain establishments where a man can take a woman, no questions asked." She let her cloak fall open, and Nathaniel's eyes glazed.

  Gabrielle was wearing a gown of crimson velvet edged with tawdry lace. The decolletage was so low, it barely covered her nipples, and the skirt was caught up to reveal a petticoat hiked well above her ankles, ankles that were clad in what looked to his astonished gaze to be cotton stockings. On her feet she wore a pair of down-at-heel black shoes with paste buckles.

  "Sweet Jesus," he whispered. "What game are you playing?"

  "A brigand's game," she said with a roguish gleam in her eye. She too seemed infected with an almost manic edge of delight. "Who's to question a servant and his whore in Pigalle?"

  Nathaniel shook his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. "Jake… T

  "He'll be quite safe with us. He's too young to understand anything about the place, and it'll be a lot safer and more comfortable than hiding from secret police in crypts."

  "And what do you know of such places?" Nathaniel demanded.

  "Well, if you must know, I had a lover," Gabrielle said nonchalantly. "We used to have our assignations there. Come on, we'll find a carriage at Notre Dame."

  "What? Come back here!" Nathaniel grabbed her arm as she was about to prance off down the street.

  Gabrielle grinned at him. "You're not going to be a prude, are you?" Wisping river mist from the Seine clung to the dark red hair tumbling loose over her shoulders, and the charcoal eyes were alight with the challenge and mischief that he hadn't seen for an eternity, it seemed.

  Jake suddenly tugged at his father's hand. He didn't understand what Gabby and Papa were talking about, but the chocolate had melted in his mouth and now he was cold and hungry and tired again.

  "Papa." The single word was a small, undifferentiated plea that caught their attention as nothing else could have at that moment.

  Nathaniel bent and picked him up. "I don't know what the hell you're up to, Gabrielle," he said. "But let's get going."

  She seemed to have wings on her feet, he thought, following her exuberant progress to Notre Dame. There were several hackney carriages in the square before the cathedral. Gabrielle gestured to one with a vulgar flick of her fingers and, in accents of the streets, engaged the driver in a ribald exchange that had Nathaniel torn between laughter and total bemusement.

  She jumped into the carriage, took a bewildered but compliant Jake from him, settling him on the seat beside her as his father climbed in and closed the door.

  "Where in the devil's name did you learn to speak like that?" Nathaniel demanded as the carriage lurched forward.

  Her eyes glinted in the darkness. "I always wanted to be an actress."

  Nathaniel leaned back against the squabs, closing his eyes in defeat. "Brigand," he murmured to himself. "A veritable brigand."

  Gabrielle only chuckled, cuddling Jake, who sucked his thumb, rocking with the motion of the carriage, sensing the different atmosphere surrounding him. The fear and the tension were gone; and there was no sign of the anger that often sparked between his father and Gabby. They were behaving in the wav that made him feel warm and happy, and Papa had that funny little smile that he only ever wore when he was with Gabby.

  The carriage came to a halt in Pigalle. Gabrielle jumped down and informed the driver with a cheeky wave that her escort was paying and he could well afford a good pourboire.

  Nathaniel handed over the fare and the required tip without demur. The square was busy and well lit, women plying their trade on every corner, potential customers idling by, examining the wares. He glanced down at Jake, who seemed indifferent to the scene, holding Gabrielle's hand, his eyes half closed with tiredness.

  "This way." Gabrielle linked her arm in Nathaniel's, allowing her cloak to fall open, revealing her trollop's costume. Her tumbling hair was a startling mismatch with the crimson gown.

  The garment was obviously as carefully selected as the rest of her wardrobe, Nathaniel thought with another quiver of amusement as she led them across the square and into a narrow side street where the houses had lanterns outside the doors and in the windows. Women lolled against doorjambs or sat in the windows, displaying their charms.

  Gabrielle stopped outside a much more discreet establishment, where a lantern hung over a closed door and the windows were shuttered.

  "What is this place?" Nathaniel demanded as Gabrielle knocked smartly.

  "The madame here used to be Julien's nurse, until she changed professions. He'd kept in touch with her, and he and his army friends used this house for their assignations. Madame is very accommodating and very discreet. It's a profitable sideline for her, I imagine."

  Julien was presumably the lover, Nathaniel decided as a grating slid back in the door and an eye filled the gap. But where did the Comte de Beaucaire figure in all this?

  He watched, fascinated, as Gabrielle raised her hand to the grating and made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, an identifying sign of some kind.

  The door was opened by a very fat woman in a gown of striped bombazine and a lace cap perched on graying hair. She greeted Gabrielle with a businesslike pleasure that indicated they were old acquaintances but not intimates, then she subjected Nathaniel to an unnervingly close inspection before swooping on Jake with cries of entrancement.

  "Oh, le pauvre petit!" She enveloped the startled child against her massive bosom, all the while listening with sharp calculation to Gabrielle's request for two adjoining rooms.

  She nodded and promptly named a sum that sounded extortionate to Nathaniel. Gabrielle, however, raised her skirt in the manner of her ac opted profession and extracted a wad of notes from her garter, counted out the requisite number, replaced the remainder, thanked their hostess warmly, and turned to Nathaniel with a smile.

  "There, that's all settled. Jake can have the smaller room, and we can… well…"

  "We might," he agreed dryly.

  "Well, that's what you're supposed to do in houses like this," she pointed out. "Oh," she said as if struck by a novel thought. "Perhaps you've never frequented one before."

  "Just you wait!" he said in a ferocious whisper.

  "I'm not sure I can," she returned, touching her tongue to her lips before turning to follow Madame's expansive rear up the stairs.

  The strains of a piano came from behind a closed door, the sounds of laughter, whispers, a little shriek- more of excitement than fear, Nathaniel decided. They were clearly in a rather more salubrious brothel than those they'd passed in the square. The floors were clean, the paint fresh, the decor discreet. And the two bedchambers Madame showed them were clean and well appointed, if somewhat more flamboyantly decorated than the corridors outside. Fire blazed grates, an ample supply of logs beside the hearth
s.

  "Will you be wanting anything?" she asked Gabrielle. "Some milk, perhaps, for le petit."

  "Bread and milk for the child," Gabrielle said. "And we would like champagne and oysters."

  "Comme d'habitude," Madame said with a brisk, comprehending nod.

  As usual? Just how often had the Comtesse de Beaucaire eaten oysters with her lover in this place? Had the lover been another spy? The husband simply a convenient cover? His death had certainly been the cover story behind her desire to join the English secret service…

  "Help me to put Jake to bed." Gabrielle interrupted his reverie and he put the questions aside. There would be time enough for them later.

  Jake sleepily submitted to being undressed and washed. The room was warm and cozy, the bed all covered in red satin, and there was a heavy flowery smell in the air that wasn't exactly unpleasant but made his nose tingle. Papa found his nightshirt in the portmanteau and slipped it over his head, then lifted him into bed.

  The bread and milk tasted almost like it did when Nurse made it for him, and when he dribbled milk on his chin, Papa wiped it off with his handkerchief.

  Feeling warm and safe, Jake snuggled down under the covers. Gabby was smiling and Papa's mouth had a funny twitch to it, as if he were going to laugh. He thought it would be better than anything in the world if they could stay there forever, just the three of them. His eyes closed.

  Nathaniel watched the child slide into sleep and felt a deep satisfaction in seeing him, for the first time since they'd left Burley Manor, ensconced in a proper bed with all his accustomed bedtime rituals. The fact that the bed was in a brothel in the city's most disorderly district didn't seem to matter.

  He bent to turn the oil lamp low beside the child's bed and kissed Jake's cheek, brushing the curly hair off his forehead. Jake's heavy eyelids lifted and then dropped again, and he snuggled deeper under the covers. So like Helen… but he wasn't Helen. He was a separate, discrete entity whose birth had cost Helen her life. But that wasn't Jake's responsibility. It was his father's.