Vintage Love

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Vintage Love Page 54

by Clarissa Ross


  “I keep worrying about Armand, and how it is with him.”

  “Don’t harp on the man who stole you from me. And don’t expect me to worry about him as you do.”

  She gave him a shocked look. “I vow you hope he won’t escape alive!”

  “What I hope has nothing to do with his fate.”

  “But you wouldn’t care, would you?”

  “I have never wept over the loss of a rival,” Kemble acknowledged.

  “What are we doing quarreling this way?” she cried with despair.

  “It was you who brought the matter up!” he reminded her.

  “Only because we saw such misery at close range.”

  “I have a notion we shall see more before we finish.”

  They had come to the end of the street. “This must be where we turn,” Enid said.

  “That is what the accursed Ramon said, though who knows for sure?”

  “Don’t confuse the directions and blame that poor little creature, for heaven’s sake!”

  “That poor little creature is a professional in a game in which we are mere amateurs,” Kemble said savagely. “I’ll warrant he has killed many times his weight in men.”

  She halted. “Listen!”

  “What is it?”

  “I hear someone running toward us!”

  “So do I. Quick, backs to the wall again! Better that we be unobserved!”

  They repeated their former actions. The footsteps came closer. Out of the darkness ahead emerged the shadowy figure of a man being pursued swiftly, and behind him raced two others with their swords drawn. The man ran straight toward where Enid and Kemble stood in the shadows.

  All at once he stumbled and fell only a yard or two away. The swordsmen approached him, and it was then that Kemble let out a roar of outrage and ran forward, his sword drawn and ready. Enid felt a burst of admiration for the melancholy actor who had so suddenly been transformed into a man of action.

  He stood over the fallen man, defending him with vigorous parries. She knew his efforts could not last very long, for he was neither that skilled a swordsman nor in perfect physical condition. With one swift motion she had drawn her own sword and leaped into the fray.

  It became a vicious double battle, swords clashing, angry oaths filling the air, and the four fencers dancing back and forth around the fallen man. Enid dropped to one knee as her adversary almost overcame her, but she managed to struggle into a better position again. She could not tell anything about the size or facial appearance of her opponent, but she knew he was a skilled fencer.

  As she parried blades with him, she waited for the right moment and then made a lucky lunge. Her weapon found its mark and he staggered back, clutching his ribs with a loud cry of pain. His partner, who was deftly outmaneuvering Kemble, whirled around and ran to his side.

  Enid tried to make another strike, but the two swordsmen were now retreating. She heard them exchange a few words, and in the next instant they had turned and run off into the same direction from which they had come.

  “Don’t follow them!” Kemble warned her. “They will lay wait to ambush us from some doorway.”

  She stood staring after them regretfully. “You are probably right, though I hate to see them get away.”

  “And so do I, madam,” said a pleasant voice with a slight accent.

  She turned and saw that the man who had been lying on the cobblestones was now on his feet. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I have sustained a flesh wound in my left arm and some loss of blood,” he told her. “I apologize for placing you both in such danger. And the gentleman is right. It would be wrong to try to follow them. They will be waiting for you and will strike before you can defend yourself.”

  “An old trick,” Kemble muttered. “Why were you so easy a victim for them?”

  “I was unarmed,” the man explained. “I never carry weapons. I count on my vocation to give me protection.”

  “Your vocation wouldn’t have helped if we hadn’t shown up,” Kemble observed.

  Enid was immediately alerted. “May I ask what your vocation is?”

  “I am a priest, madam,” he replied.

  “Is your church near here?”

  “The monastery I belong to is. Alas, I am its only occupant at this time. The others have fled. Even men called to serve God are turning into insane beasts in this holocaust!”

  “You are Father Braun, are you not?”

  “You know my name!” he gasped in astonishment. “And you are English!”

  “Sent to meet you,” Kemble told him solemnly. “We were on our way to the monastery when we came upon you. Or rather, when you came staggering toward us.”

  “Come with me,” the priest said at once. “Those men could return. Esmond’s agents are everywhere.”

  “Did they belong to Esmond?” she asked as they moved quickly along the street.

  “Yes. And he is the vilest of all our enemies.”

  “We know a good deal about him, too,” Kemble said.

  The priest halted. “Here, this is the monastery.”

  He led them into a gray stone building. To the left of the entry was a chapel, which he entered and then motioned them to follow him. After he found a candle and lit it, he made his devotions before the altar. For the first time Enid saw his face, the same ruddy, pleasant-looking face as that in the sketch Sir Harry had shown them. There was no question that this man, with his blue eyes and gray hair, was Father Braun.

  When the priest had finished his prayers, she said, “Sir Harry showed us a drawing of you. I am quite satisfied.”

  He nodded. “And I have no doubts about you two, either. Naturally, I was informed of your coming.”

  “It’s lucky we arrived when we did,” Kemble put in.

  “Thank the Lord for your timely appearance. I had been out for a little while, and I found the two men waiting for me with drawn swords when I returned. With no one here to come to my aid, I could do nothing but flee into the street.”

  “What about the lad, the Dauphin?” Kemble wanted to know.

  “He is safe below, in one of the dungeons,” Father Braun said. “We have underground cells for those wanting to offer contritions. That seemed the safest refuge, so I put him down there.”

  “Let us go to him now,” Kemble urged.

  Father Braun’s expression turned solemn. “You understand that this is a moment which will be recorded in history.”

  “I hope so,” Kemble said fervently. “There are times when I fear our only mention will be in the list of the dead.”

  “We are honored to have this responsibility,” the priest continued. “Remember, not only are the French people determined to kill off the royal family, but the Prussians and Austrians are aware that an exchange was made, and that the Dauphin is free and about to be delivered to England’s representatives. They are scouring this city for the lad.”

  “Does Esmond know he was released and is here?”

  “Why else would his men be loitering about and trying to kill me? It has not been voiced abroad that a deaf mute has replaced Louis Charles in his prison cell, but you may be sure the head of the French secret service knows it.”

  “I think he must,” Enid agreed.

  “Well, let us get on with it,” Kemble said impatiently.

  “This way.” Father Braun picked up the tall white candle and led them out of the chapel and across the passage to a great oaken door. He removed the heavy latch, and they proceeded down a narrow corridor that gave way to a winding staircase.

  “Careful,” he warned them. “The ceiling lowers here, and the last few steps are broken off.”

  Enid and Kemble followed the priest along another tunnel-like corridor that had a slight curve to it. The priest was well ahead of them, and the flame of the candle cast a flickering, eerie light along the gray stone walls and ceiling. Enid felt her nerves grow more taut as they neared their destination. As Father Braun had said, this could be an imp
ortant moment in history.

  The priest halted and then gave a loud gasp. The door before which he was standing was partially open, and the small room beyond it was empty of life.

  He turned to them in a grave state of agitation. “He is gone! The Dauphin is gone!”

  “What are you saying?” Kemble demanded.

  The priest turned back to stare blankly into the cell. “The boy has vanished. It is evident that while I was away for a short time, they found him—despite my bringing him down here and securely locking the door!”

  Kemble pointed to the stone floor. “That is what remains of your lock!”

  “Broken!” Father Braun advanced into the tiny cubicle and carefully examined it. He bent down by the cot and picked up a richly illustrated volume of animal studies. “Here is the book I left with him. You see the candle by which he read is still burning.”

  “They cannot have taken him very long ago,” Enid murmured, trying to inject some hope into her voice.

  “Now I think I understand,” Father Braun said. “They came and took the lad and left those two behind to finish me off. Fortunately, you arrived in time to save me.”

  “Had we been earlier, we might have saved the Dauphin as well,” Enid lamented.

  “What now?” Kemble asked quietly.

  “I don’t know.” Father Braun shook his head. “This is a most disastrous turn of events.”

  “Our mission is now pointless,” Enid fretted. “What do you think the chances are of getting him back?”

  “With Louis Esmond as his captor, almost none,” the priest replied bitterly. “He will probably be brought back to the prison from which he was originally taken, or they may put him in some other prison. In the end he will be executed with the rest of the royal family.”

  Kemble threw up his hands in despair. “And England will have no ace to play when the revolution fails. There will be no soverign available to put on the French throne.”

  Father Braun nodded sadly.

  “We mustn’t give up hope,” Enid insisted. “Where do you think Esmond may have taken him?”

  “I will have to use other agents to determine that,” the priest said. “It may take only a few hours, or it may take the like number of days.” A drawn look crossed his face and paled its normal ruddiness. “I have failed Sir Harry. He will not be pleased. I tried to play the game alone to ensure the utmost secrecy. I thought I could protect the boy by myself. But I ought to have had an associate or two. I should not have left him alone when I went out. That was my error, and it may have cost us his life.”

  Enid felt sorry for Father Braun. His bitter condemnation of himself was touching and sincere. Gently she withdrew the children’s book from his hands and studied it. “May I keep this?” she asked. “It has the royal signature in it. We can at least offer it as proof to Sir Harry that we were close to our quarry.”

  “Take it,” he said. “Now let us return upstairs to discuss what our next moves should be.”

  They retraced their steps through the underground labyrinth. Then the priest led them into a dining hall at the rear of the building and produced a jug of red wine and some glasses. His expression was bitter as he remarked, “We hate been stripped of property, vestments, everything. Fortunately, they missed the best of our wine cellars.”

  Kemble sat down at the mahogany refectory table and gazed at Enid and the priest. “We have been outsmarted and made fools of by Esmond. It is truly unthinkable.”

  “He is a formidable adversary,” Father Braun reminded him.

  “What is your plan?” Enid asked.

  The priest frowned over his wine goblet. “When we leave here, I shall go directly to the house of another agent who will alert our network. We will find out where the prince is being held.”

  “And then?” Kemble prodded.

  “If the prison is not too difficult to enter, we will work out a plan of attack. Hopefully, there may be guards whom we can bribe. We must meet this evil with wiles of our own and try to effect the boy’s rescue.”

  “What are the two of us to do?” Enid wondered.

  “For the moment, nothing,” Father Braun said. “Remain where you are. As soon as I have something to report, I will get word to you. It would be wise for you to be prepared to take action on the spur of the moment. By the time I have learned where the Dauphin is, we will have to move quickly.”

  Kemble protested. “Surely we can be put to some use now, can’t we? I did not venture on this long, dangerous journey just to fume and fret in shabby lodgings.”

  “You must not be impatient,” Father Braun cautioned him. “You are not familiar with Paris. And the fact that you are English will draw unwanted attention to you.”

  “So you think it’s important that we refrain from doing anything on our own until we hear from you,” Enid concluded.

  “It is the only way,” the priest agreed. “In the meantime, you can familiarize yourself with maps of the city, and the agents with whom you are staying can give you additional advice. By the way, where is their house?”

  Enid and Kemble glanced uncertainly at each other. They both remembered Ramon’s statement that the priest knew nothing of him and Renaud and that it was better that way. But this was an emergency situation, and they had no choice but to reveal their present location.

  “It is probably unwise for us to remain here much longer,” Enid added. “Esmond’s men could return with more recruits and we would be sorely outnumbered.”

  Father Braun smiled at her approvingly. “I can see why Sir Harry chose you for this important mission. You have a good mind, and you are also the most expert female at wielding a sword whom I have ever encountered.”

  “She has an extraordinary talent for fencing,” Kemble agreed.

  “I’m glad I was able to put it to good use,” Enid said, her sloe eyes gleaming at the memory of her efforts.

  “Needless to say, I’m most grateful.” The priest rose from the table. “When we leave, we shall depart by a rear exit. It would be best if you left first, and then I shall follow.”

  “You are in charge,” Kemble allowed.

  “We are equals,” Father Braun hastened to say, “but in certain matters it might be wise to take my advice.”

  They moved out of the dining hall and drew their cloaks tighter around them. The monastery was both dank and gloomy, and the single lighted taper could not dispel the shadows that loomed at them forebodingly.

  “I should get back to you sometime tomorrow,” the cleric informed his English accomplices. “If my work takes longer, I’ll send a message to you to that effect.”

  The flickering candlelight revealed a short stairway that led to an arched door. Father Braun paused there with them and said, “This will take you into a narrow alley. It is much safer, and you only have to turn left at its end to find your way back to the street.” He unbarred the door and held the candle aloft.

  Kemble thanked him, and he and Enid stepped into the alley. Her last view of the cleric was as he stood in the doorway, the candle casting a golden glow about him. Even though he wore ordinary clothing, his mien was priestly.

  They moved warily along the cobblestones. The dark alley was, thankfully, deserted. After several minutes Enid asked Kemble, “What do you make of him?”

  “Steel-trap mind and nerves.”

  “I agree, but there is more to him than that. He is dedicated to saving the Dauphin, even though I think he may be cynical about the uses England wishes to make of the lad.”

  “His responsibility is to produce the boy for us, not to criticize our diplomacy. And he has failed.”

  “Which means we’ve all failed.”

  “For the moment,” the actor amended.

  She saw they were now on the route by which they had come, and she felt easier. “It didn’t take Louis Esmond very long to come back into the picture,” she observed.

  “As the chief of the revolutionist spy service, he was never really out of it.”


  “I hope I look different enough now,” she worried. “I’m sure you do.”

  “The main thing is the boy,” Kemble told her firmly. “If they have taken him back to the prison from which he was rescued, the chances of freeing him again are small.”

  When they reached the lodging house, they found Renaud and Ramon in a back room, silent and absorbed over a game of chess. Renaud looked up as they entered, his expression one of keen anticipation.

  “What is the word?” he asked eagerly.

  “Bad,” Kemble growled.

  The midget glared at him. “You didn’t let the Dauphin escape from you?” he demanded shrilly. Enid answered him. “We didn’t even get a chance to see the prince. He was abducted by Louis Esmond’s men before we arrived.”

  Kemble then told them the entire story, ending with, “So we remain here until Father Braun learns where the Dauphin is.”

  The midget’s pale face was twisted with scorn. “I have never trusted men of the cloth. That priest is far too simplistic in his methods.”

  Renaud frowned at him across the table. “No need to blame Father Braun. He had proved himself a most capable agent.”

  “And he has failed in his most important assignment,” the midget shrilled. “Sir Harry will pay us back for this. He’s liable to be so angry he’ll throw us all to the rabble!”

  Enid spoke soothingly. “I think Father Braun did his best. And he is intelligent. There’s still hope.”

  “I fail to see it,” Ramon said in an ugly tone. “We may as well go back to playing chess!”

  Both Enid and Kemble were thoroughly exhausted. They left the men to their game and went upstairs. The actor hesitated before her bedroom door, saying, “One thing, at least. We are still together.”

  She smiled wanly. “A small comfort.”

  “It could be much more,” he urged softly.

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Ah, your infernal loyalty to a man who is probably already dead!”

  “I won’t believe that!”

  “You have seen what Paris is like. You know he was in prison when you last heard of him. Can you honestly hope he is still alive?”

  “I must.”

  Kemble took her in his arms and held her close, stroking her hair with a light touch. The increased pounding of her heart told Enid that his embrace had stirred her. She could not forget the blissful times they had shared together, nor did she want to. They would be forever etched in her memory. She sighed and lifted her face to his. The kiss he gave her was ardent and of long duration, and before it was over she had responded almost urgently.

 

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