MV02 Death Wears a Crown

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “I used Madame’s sheets,” the chambermaid assured her. “And I have made sure there are no holes in any of the blankets, or feathers lost from the pillows. The blankets are not musty and there are no mice in the room.”

  “Very good,” said Victoire, and reluctantly dug into her reticule for two silver coins to hand to the young woman. “For your good service,” she said as she offered them.

  The chambermaid curtsied and then did her best to smile. “Thank you, Madame,” she said eagerly. “Thank you very much.” She seemed inclined to linger.

  Victoire did not want that, so she yawned conspicuously and tugged at the fichu she had worn around her shoulders. “Travel is so exhausting,” she hinted.

  At that the chambermaid curtsied and started toward the door. “Sleep well, Madame. I will be sure you are roused in time to have breakfast before your diligence leaves.”

  Aware that this service would also require a doucement, Victoire sighed. “Thank you.” She trusted that the lack of enthusiasm would be attributed to fatigue instead of the cost.

  “My pleasure to serve you, Madame,” said the chambermaid as she backed out the room and closed the door.

  Victoire sat down on the bed and felt for the money-belt she wore around her waist. It was depleted beyond her expectations, and she began to worry that she would not be able to finish the journey without stringent economies. Perhaps, she thought, she could plead travel sickness at the next stop, and not have to pay for meals. That would save her a little, unless her two self-appointed guardians should override her orders.

  Methodically she opened the case and took out the pistol Vernet had given her, wishing it would banish the fright that niggled at her. She charged it with care, then slipped it under the pillows, satisfied that she had taken every reasonable precaution. Next she deposited her reticule under the other pillow, and then she began to undress, shivering a little at the chill in the air. Then she repacked most of her luggage. How very tedious this journey was becoming, she thought as she took down her blonde hair and began to brush it. When that was done she braided it loosely and secured it with a ribband, sighing a little as she turned back the covers and slid into the bed, reaching to pinch out the candles on the stand beside the bed next to the ewer of water before drawing the bed curtains around her. In the darkness she tucked the dispatches into the money-belt that she continued to wear, and wished she were not afraid.

  As she lay back she turned her mind to what she would tell Bernadotte and Berthier. With those perplexing possibilities in her thoughts, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  * * *

  Two of the men who had arrived in the private carriage were waiting in the stable yard when the kitchen door to the inn opened and Claude Montrachet came out, a pistol instead of an instrument’s case in his hand.

  “Why the hell have you taken so long?” one of the two men demanded in English that sounded of Northumberland.

  “The scullions were still working and I didn’t want them to see me,” said Montrachet, also in English though his was flavored with French vowels and r’s. “And I might ask you why you are here and not farther along the road.”

  “We had to replace one of the wheelers,” said the first man. “It took a day while the horse was traded. In these towns such things can’t be hurried.”

  “You are more behind schedule than ever,” said Montrachet, making it an accusation.

  “It couldn’t be helped,” the first man insisted.

  “If we’re out here too long, we might be noticed. And suspected,” the other man declared. “If only those soldiers weren’t here.”

  “They’re no danger to us,” said Montrachet. “They’re all puffed up with guarding that officer’s wife.” His chuckle was low and unpleasant.

  “You don’t suppose there’s anything to their claims, do you?” the second asked. “Surely she’d have more escort than that if she had anything important with her, wouldn’t she?”

  “Do you think she really is carrying anything important?” asked the first at the same time, looking around nervously.

  Montrachet shook his head. “I doubt even Napoleon’s officers are that foolish. But it might be wise to be certain,” he added with a significant nod.

  “You’re not planning—” the first said.

  “Let me worry about what I am planning,” said Montrachet. “If we can gain useful information before we join up with Sackett- Hartley once more, then we can be of more use to him than we are now.” He looked around the inn yard. “In the meantime, you’d better get back to your rooms, unless you have something more to tell me?”

  “Nothing much. Our weapons are in the floor of the coach. So far the patrols have not thought to look there.” The second man was not as nervous as the first, but he was not at ease, either. “We have a pair of pistols in the coach, in case there are questions about protection, and those the patrols have ignored.”

  “More fool they,” said Montrachet. He held up his pistol, a small masterpiece by Manton. “This is easily concealed in the case with my horn.” His face registered distress. “I used to love music. Once we are back in France and in our rightful positions once again, I swear I will have that damned thing melted down for scrap.” He spat.

  “Hush,” warned the second man. “Someone might hear.”

  “What matter?” Montrachet said, but lowered his voice as he did. He started to smile and then his expression soured. “We should not have been delayed as long as we have been.”

  “The papers were not ready,” said the first man, repeating what had been said many times.

  “Still, we should have been in Paris before now. Sackett-Hartley is counting on us to have found a place to live while we complete our mission. He will not be pleased when he learns that we have arrived late.” He stiffened as he heard a sound on the other side of the inn yard; he brought his pistol up, motioning his two companions to silence. “Is anyone there?” he called softly in French.

  A brindled mongrel with elements of hound, spaniel, and terrier made a tentative approach, scruffy tail wagging uncertainly.

  “The ostlers’ watchdog,” said the second man. “They told me he was fierce.”

  “Let us not put this to the test,” suggested Montrachet. “Very well. I will not meet with you again until Paris.” He started away, then turned back. “You will probably want to put up for the night in Beauvais. I will stay in Auteuil or Andeville so that we will not encounter each other again.”

  The first man nodded. “We will take care to obey you.”

  “Good. A chance like this, happening once, will deserve no attention, but if it happens again, questions might be asked.” Montrachet gestured to the other two. “Your papers are in order now, aren’t they?”

  “Perfect,” said the second man.

  “They had better be,” said Montrachet, and slipped back into the inn by the pantry door.

  The two men regarded one another in the faint light. “What do you think?” asked the second after a short time.

  “I think we’d better return to our rooms, or someone will wonder if we’re ill and have remained in the necessary house to conceal it.” The first indicated the small buildings at the far end of the inn yard. “You had better complain at breakfast. Say you’re feeling liverish.”

  The second shrugged. “If you think it’s advisable.”

  “It will stop questions,” said the first, and pointed to the side entrance of the inn, which most of the guests used for their forays to the necessary houses. “Wait three minutes and follow me.”

  The second shrugged again, this time with a trace of irritation. “I don’t know why I should be the one—”

  “Because you made the biggest fuss about supper,” said the first, and left his companion alone in the inn yard with the mongrel fawning at him in the faint hope of getting a scrap of food.

/>   * * *

  Victoire was not certain what had brought her awake, but her eyes were suddenly open though she remained wholly unmoving as she listened intently, her pulse fast and loud. Much as she wanted to peek through the bed-curtains, she dared not.

  Another noise, this one sharper without being much louder, caught her attention. She recognized the sound of faint footsteps now, and she slipped her hand under the pillow, searching for her charged pistol. Her fingers closed on the butt and she felt the first surge of excitement over her fright.

  There was a faint click and the soft complaint of a hinge—Victoire suspected the armoire was being opened—then the muffled sound of her clothes being searched. It was time to act. Quelling her fear, Victoire sat up slowly, taking care to make no sound. When she had drawn up one leg to give her some stability, she prepared herself. Finally she pulled the pistol out and reached for the bed-curtain.

  “That will do,” she said as she flung the bed-curtain back. Her pistol was steady in her hand. She blinked against the darkness, able to make out little more than a vague shape in the open door of the armoire.

  The man swore as he swung around and fired in her direction. The flame from the barrel of his pistol marked his position. The ball ripped into the bed-curtains above her head.

  Victoire fired and had the satisfaction of hearing the intruder cry out, and in the next moment there was the sound of his pistol dropping and a sharp, hissed oath. As her eyes readjusted to the darkness Victoire saw the intruder bend to retrieve his discharged pistol and then break toward the door.

  “Come back here!” shouted Victoire, knowing that the two shots would certainly wake most of the inn. “Stop! Thief!”

  There was a bustle in the next room, and then the sleepy voice of the landlord on the ground floor was heard, demanding that the thief stop.

  “Catch him!” Victoire shouted as she clambered out of bed. It was not proper for her to venture out in nightclothes. She compromised by standing in her open doorway and shouting as loudly as possible, “Stop that man! Catch him!”

  A door at the end of the hall flew open and one of the passengers, still belting his robe, rushed into the hall. “Thief! Thief!” he shouted.

  There were other calls and cries now, so jumbled that Victoire knew no sense could be made of them. She abandoned her place at the door and went to throw open the window and call down to the ostlers. “Stop thief!” she yelled as she saw a shadowy figure flee toward the fruit trees at the back of the inn.

  Corporal Feuille, his robe open and his nightshirt untidy, called to her from the door, hefting his carbine. “We are in pursuit, Madame.”

  “And too late,” she amended. “He appears to be getting away,” she declared, pointing to where the figure had vanished.

  “Corporal Cruche is—” Corporal Feuille began.

  Victoire cut him short. “Corporal Cruche is not going to be able to catch him unless he has a horse saddled and waiting.” She pulled the window closed as she saw Corporal Cruche in a flapping robe rush out into the inn yard. The fear that had held her vanished, leaving her momentarily weak.

  “You can’t be sure, Madame,” said Corporal Feuille, clearly feeling distressed.

  “I have just seen it,” said Victoire, resisting the urge to yell at the Corporal. “Where is the landlord?”

  “Below,” said Corporal Feuille, baffled by the question. “But I assure you that you do not requi—”

  “I want all the rooms checked at once. I want to know if one of his guests was in my room,” said Victoire with great presence of mind. She stopped at the bed long enough to put her pistol down on the nightstand, then felt in the armoire for her robe, which she drew on as she came to the door, prepared now to face the censure of her fellow travelers. “I think he was wounded.”

  “Madame?” Corporal Feuille said, following her as she started down the stairs.

  “Well, I fired at him, and he swore. He also dropped his pistol, so I suspect he is wounded. That may be of some help when you go to search for him.” She was near the ground floor, but she turned and looked back up the stairs, and noticed that half of the guests were out of their rooms, muttering and milling about. “And it would be a good idea if everyone returned to their rooms as well. I might not be the only one who has had a night visitor.”

  “What do you mean?” asked the landlord, who had heard the last of this.

  “I mean that if the man is a thief, he might have taken valuables from others,” said Victoire as patiently as she could. “Hurry, man, have your servants speak to everyone.” She gestured to the inn. “If the man is a guest, you will find it out quickly. If it is a thief from the outside, perhaps someone in the kitchen or the stables saw him.”

  The landlord was sufficiently in awe of Victoire’s position that he did not hesitate to take his orders from a woman. He called aloud to his cook and the two women who served as serving maids in the taproom. “Hurry. Be up with you and about your searches.”

  Corporal Feuille had gone back up the stairs in a huff and was suggesting to the guests to report to him all they had heard and seen. He did not tell them to go back to their rooms.

  Then Corporal Cruche came puffing in from outside, his rifle held negligently. He looked at the landlord. “The fellow has run off through your orchard, or so it appears.”

  The landlord looked truly distressed. “Did you follow him?”

  “No further than the trees,” said Corporal Cruche, and indicated his bare feet. “I should have pulled on my boots.”

  “So you should,” said Victoire, acutely aware of her own bare feet. “Did you see him?”

  “Just a man in a dark cloak. He was running fast.” Corporal Cruche straightened up as if determined to put the best face on this reprehensible incident. “But as soon as it is light I will try to track him.”

  “Enterprising,” said the landlord, as anxious as the corporal to have it appear that he was doing everything he could to apprehend the criminal. He turned to Victoire again. “You see? They are taking care to respond to the danger.”

  “They are soldiers,” said Victoire testily. She folded her arms, resting them over the money-belt. “It is their task to do this.”

  “Yes, certainly it is,” said the landlord, bent on soothing her. “And Madame, I wish you to understand that considering what terrible thing has happened to you while at the Vigne et Tonneau, there will of course be no charge for your room, for certainly it is my duty to make sure every traveler may stay here without any inconvenience.”

  “Thank you,” said Victoire, relieved in spite of herself, for she was already thinking that there might be other charges made on her account if the landlord decided that the events of the night had been at her instigation.

  “It is only fitting. And I pray you will so inform your husband, Madame, when you are reunited with him.”

  “I certainly will,” she said. “And I would like to tell him that the thief was apprehended.”

  The landlord shrugged. “It would seem that this—”

  “You have a dog, haven’t you?” asked Victoire, who expected that this inn was very much as all inns were. “Could he not be put to use?”

  The landlord waved his hand to show what an absurd notion she had. “He is not a tracker, but a ratter. I doubt he would be able to find a joint of beef in a thicket.”

  “But why not give him the opportunity,” Victoire said, not expecting the landlord to agree. She looked around. “I want two branches of candles in my room while I make a complete search of it.”

  “Yes,” said the landlord promptly. “Yes, indeed. It will be tended to at once.” He clapped his hands loudly and summoned one of the chambermaids, who appeared to be half-asleep.

  “And you might tell the rest of your guests to do the same,” Victoire said, hoping that this time someone would pay attention.

&
nbsp; “We will attend to that,” said the landlord, with a nod toward the two corporals. “I warrant these two soldiers know the way to manage this best.”

  She bit back a caustic remark, saying only, “When the maid has brought the candles I would appreciate a cup of chocolate, if you can provide one.”

  “Certainly,” said the landlord huffily, resenting the implication that his inn would not have such a luxury to offer his guests. “I will order it at once.”

  And normally charge all that he could, thought Victoire as she watched the landlord tromp off toward the kitchen. She hesitated at the foot of the stairs, then started up them, determined to set about her task as soon as possible. The money-belt with its additional cargo of dispatches suddenly felt very heavy.

  * * *

  Victoire’s search was unnecessarily thorough, but she wanted it to be understood that she had done everything that might be expected of her. She saw that the ball from the pistol had passed through the thin cloth that hung over the bed and lodged in the wall. The hole was tiny, confirming her impression that the pistol the thief had carried was smaller than even her own. As she repacked her luggage for the second time that night, she declared to the chambermaid, “There is nothing missing.”

  “Thank God and the Virgin for that” the chambermaid said, stifling a yawn. “I will tell the landlord. He will be gratified.”

  “So I hope,” said Victoire, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She was very tired but so keyed-up that she knew it was useless to try to sleep again that night. Her back ached and she could feel the drag of her muscles. “Where is that chocolate?”

  “I will go and fetch it,” offered the chambermaid, looking around the room once more. “And you actually shot at him?”

  “And hit him, I think,” said Victoire as she reached for her pistol, deciding to clean it in the morning, perhaps while traveling.