The English Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  Louis had gotten involved partly because he was always on the lookout for a situation he could turn to his own use and partly by pure accident. On the afternoon of his discussion with Maître Foucalt, Roger had gone to the Hôtel de Ville and made inquiries about setting up a business. His request had been greeted with surprise and suspicion, which Roger did not mind at all because it resulted in his being passed from one person to the other. Each clerk was afraid to admit that he did not know whether permission was needed, nor was anyone willing to accept the responsibility of giving permission.

  The discussion and checking took so much time that Louis had appeared on the scene ready to close and check the offices before anyone had gone home. His strong if unofficial, influence with Marot was known, and he had been asked for his opinion on the subject of Roger’s case. Roger’s surprise had been masked at once behind lowered eyelids. Petty officials are too status-conscious to ask the opinion of a building janitor or night watchman. Ergo, Louis was more than he seemed, and from the repeated use of Marot’s name, Roger deduced that Louis had the ear of the town’s revolutionary leader.

  Most reasonably, Louis had disclaimed all knowledge. Roger had flashed a bright blue glance at him while Louis was talking to one of the clerks. A very young man to… No. There were little lines at the corners of the eyes and mouth that told a different story. A second part of the story was told by Louis’ manner. There was no arrogance. He was pleasant and affable, even to the least and most pompous of the clerks. They feared Marot, but they liked Louis and did not fear him. Thus, Louis did not act the spy for Marot, at least not among the office personnel or not obviously. Now all Roger had to know was whether Louis was a faithful dog, a true worshipper of his leader, or a clever, ambitious devil.

  By the next afternoon when Roger returned, he found his problem had been solved by a direct application to Marot. An honest tradesman was always welcome in Saulieu, he was told. He need only pay the same taille as any other artisan and he could set up quarters anywhere he liked. Roger paid with thanks, offering an assignat. It was accepted, but with a frown that showed how little faith the people had in their own government’s currency. Roger smiled to himself. He had a better use for his gold and silver than paying French taxes—and that way, he hoped was approaching at the very moment. Roger smiled at Louis, who had just come into the room, an asked if he would have a drink with him.

  Louis was clever, but Roger was much cleverer, with years of experience in reading and outwitting men long used to the high-level chicanery called “legal practice”. As Louis had played Jean-Paul, Roger now played Louis. He was not afraid Louis would detect this, because he was offering just what Louis wanted in just the way Louis expected it to be offered—hedged around with safeguards to prevent Louis from betraying Roger. The safeguards, Roger assumed were necessary; however, the main reason Roger insisted so strongly on them was to convince Louis that he was the one who was safe the one with the upper hand, that it was Roger who felt insecure.

  Nonetheless, Roger was not completely successful. He still believed that he might be able to free de Conyers, but after the briefest conversation it was immediately clear that he would not be able to induce Louis to allow Henry and his daughter—Roger learned at once that Marie and the young son were dead—to escape. Louis had ambitions beyond simple greed, and he was wise enough to know Saulieu was the only place these were likely to be fulfilled. However, in veiled terms he indicated that the there were ways an escape could be “arranged” that could not be traced to him.

  That very night, well and ostentatiously armed, Roger went to a wineshop in a section of the town that should have been unknown to an honest artisan. His tailor would have been appalled at the set of his coat, which was badly distorted by the weight of gold rouleaux in one inner pocket and a fine Lorenzoni pistol in the other. A second pistol could be seen projecting from the top of Roger’s right boot, and a serviceable rapier, with a worn grip that spoke silently of considerable use, hung at his hip.

  Fortunately, he did not need the armament nor to drink much of the execrable wine served. He was joined almost as soon as he seated himself by an elderly man, decently dressed—in which he differed drastically from everyone in the place except Roger—but with the hardest eyes Roger had ever seen. For a moment, Roger wondered whether what he planned to accomplish was worth the agony he might let loose on Saulieu. Were the lives of Henry de Conyers and his daughter of greater value than the others that might be lost? Roger knew that once the plan was set in motion there would be no way to stop it.

  He had little time to worry. The man who faced him had no fears about betrayal. Had the authorities the power to take him, they would have done so long ago. He had his own methods for ensuring his safety. He did not need to deal in circumlocutions, therefore, and came to the point as soon as he had made certain of Roger’s identity.

  “Louis le Bébé says you want a mob to break into the Hôtel de Ville. That will be costly, very, very costly.”

  “That was not what I said, patron,” Roger rejoined. He had been told it was unhealthy to ask the name of the man with whom he was to deal and that he should call him patron, that is, “boss”. “What I said,” Roger continued, “was that I wanted Henry de Conyers and his daughter. The mob was Louis’ idea. And I do not see why it should be expensive. It should not cost much to incite a few rabble-rousers to preach violence.”

  The old man smiled a grim acknowledgment. “No, likely I would not even need to pay those, but I do not want too much violence in this town. Besides, there must be a rabble to be roused. People do not suddenly take it into their heads to rush through the streets at night. And in this town, we cannot begin in advance to whip up the temper of a mob. Marot would not stand for it. He is no believer in freedom of speech. There has been unrest already, and the civil guard was called out at once to quell it. If you are to gain your purpose, there must be no sign ahead of time.”

  Roger considered, his face expressionless. He was certainly willing to pay if the patron could keep the violence to a minimum. Besides, what he said was true. There would be enough room for bargaining without contesting the obvious. “There is another part to it,” he said. “I want the prisoners and I want them outside the gate. I do not care about the mob. If it can be done without any disturbance, that will please me just as well. When we come to a price, I will pay the whole whether one man or a hundred is involved.”

  The hard eyes stared at Roger, personal greed struggling with foreknowledge. Finally the patron shook his head, but he smiled again, this time with a certain respect for a clever opponent-partner.

  “Very well, the prisoners free of the Hôtel de Ville and outside the gates. It would be easy enough to do without the mob, but I must live in the town. Marot would surround this whole quarter and burn us out if a thief unlocked the prison and a bribe found a way through the gates.”

  Roger shrugged. “Suit yourself, but remember that I am a stranger here without resources. What I have, I have. If we can come to terms—good. If not, I have no way of finding more money. I am an agent doing a job, nothing more.”

  “Ah.” There was an expression of satisfaction on the seamed and hardened face. The cold eyes flicked from the pistol in the boot to the well-worn sword. It made sense now, and the patron knew where he stood, which made him comfortable. He had been concerned that he was dealing with some highborn idiot who would have all kinds of scruples. However, everyone knew Monsieur de Conyers was a nobleman in his own land. It was most reasonable that his family should send an agent. Doubtless the man would strike as good a bargain as he could get, hoping to keep whatever was left for himself. But it was also true that there was a limit to the money. For a moment the eyes fixed on Roger went even colder.

  Roger could feel a trickle of icy perspiration down his back and hoped similar beads were not standing so boldly on his face that they could be seen. Still, he managed to shake his head and smile coldly.

  “I am
not a fool,” he said softly “There is another pistol in my pocket, aimed at your belly under the table, patron. And the money is not at my lodgings. It is not even in the town.” This was a flat lie, of course. The money was where it had always been, under a clever false floor beneath the seat of the carriage. Roger, however, was quite accustomed to lying in a good cause. “You will get it quicker and easier by doing your part honestly.”

  The hard eyes blinked. The tense moment passed. A price was named. Roger shook his head, although he felt considerable relief. He had brought a good sum of money, but he had been considering simple bribery, not insurrection. The price named was beyond his ability to pay, but not very much beyond it. They began to bargain in earnest. In this Roger was somewhat less successful than he hoped. The price came down a little, but not nearly as much as he expected.

  “If you do not have that much,” the patron said at last, plainly impatient, “I am wasting my time and you are wasting yours. I will not do it for less.”

  “I have it,” Roger said, “but just. I must also get these people to England. We must eat and sleep.”

  “That is not my problem. There are ways to eat without money. Surely un des coureurs de rue Bow can arrange that.”

  Roger stared blankly and then began to laugh. It had taken him a moment to connect the French phrase with Bow Street Runners, an organization devoted to restoring lost property, finding missing persons and trapping criminals—for a price. He did not know whether to be insulted or flattered. The Runners were not, in general, of high repute. The men employed were usually little better than the criminals they dealt with. On the other hand, some of them were hard, clever men and it was plain that the reputation of the organization was better abroad than in England. There had been a challenge rather than a sneer in the remark about living without money.

  The laugh, of course, was unwise because it finished the bargaining. Probably it did not matter; the patron did not sound as if he were open to more bargaining anyway. Roger was concerned at how little money he would have, but he had his stock of guns. Once they were away from Saulieu, he could sell what he had. He turned his attention to the arrangements for delivering Henry and his daughter and paying the fee agreed upon. When the matter was settled, Roger suggested, with a smile in the direction of the gun he carried, that his companion escort him to a safer quarter of the town.

  “Do you think I will take this matter in hand on your word alone?” the old man asked, his face getting harder and uglier. “What is this, a joke?”

  “No, I had forgotten.” That was the truth although Roger did not expect to be believed. No matter, the “excuse” was in character for the role he was playing. He pulled the rouleaux of gold from his pocket and slid them across the table.

  The rolls of coins were weighed in the patron’s hand briefly. “More,” he said.

  “Not a sou,” Roger replied. He stretched out his hand toward the coins he had passed over. “Give them back and we are quits. I will not bargain with you further, and in any case I did not bring any more. You will have the people in your hands. When I receive them in good condition, you will be paid. And I do not want more than the two men we agreed on to accompany them. If more come to the appointed place, I will not be there and you will never find the money.”

  “And if I bring out your people and come with only two men, what is to stop you from shooting us or handing over gilded lead? I want more.”

  Roger stood up. He was sweating again, and it took an effort to keep the hand that was showing steady. However, the bulge in his pocket made by his hand on his pistol was very apparent. “I am in business and not the business of murder,” he said angrily, wondering what he could say that would convince this man. “It is in my interest to get de Conyers back safe, because I will be richly paid if I return with them. Moreover, it is not my money. I do not care whether I pay it to you or return it. But once the money is paid, it is my neck that is in danger. I must have either the people or the gold in order to go back to England—and I have a family there. I will take no chances on this. I can explain losing what I gave you. I could not explain losing more. This or nothing.”

  “You did not tell me you would be paid again when you had the people safe,” the patron grumbled.

  “It is no business of yours how I am paid,” Roger said sharply to hide his relief.

  The truth was that he had never thought of the subject, because of course there was no question of his being paid for anything he was doing now. However, the patron seemed to find all the problems that had been troubling him solved by the idea of future payment and promptly agreed to see Roger safely out of the area. It was only later, when he was having a brandy by the fire in his own room, that Roger understood and began to laugh. The patron believed he had driven so hard a bargain that Roger would have to cheat in order to make a profit. Roger had smothered his initial burst of laughter, and now he chuckled softly. This business was going to be a dead loss financially, even if Stour wished to repay the expenses. Still, Roger would not have missed it for the world. He could not remember having been so completely terrified as he had been while bargaining with the patron since his older brothers had told him ghost stories and then left him alone in the dark when he was four. There was nothing like a bout of knee-knocking, cold-sweat fear to make one appreciate the luxury of a good brandy and cheerful fire.

  Then Roger frowned. He had forgotten one thing—one essential thing. How would he know the man and woman who were brought to him really came from the Hôtel de Ville and actually were Henry and Leonie de Conyers?

  Chapter Five

  By the end of the week, Leonie and her father had speculated themselves into total hopeless confusion. No matter what Leonie did, she could neither get Louis into the cell nor get herself out. Still, the food continued to be excellent and real luxuries had appeared—a half bottle of wine, a small cheese, a packet of raisins. Henry believed that there was going to be an insurrection that would overthrow Jean-Paul Marot and return his friends to power. Louis must have heard rumors about it, he told Leonie, and was now trying to get on the good side of his prisoners.

  That was not possible, Leonie argued. She did not give her father very strong reasons to support her assertion because she did not wish to expose her knowledge of Louis character, but she had reasons. Louis might want to get rid of Marot, but he certainly would not want the officials Marot had overthrown back in power. No, rather than that, Louis would warn Marot of the danger. The most logical reason for Louis’ refusal to take Leonie out in his usual way or even to talk to her was that he was under suspicion. But that notion was directly contradicted by the sudden excellent quality of the food. Nothing could explain the food.

  The tension was growing unbearable, and Leonie decided that she would have some answer that evening. As she had become more insistent, Louis had become more cautious. Now he did not even permit his hand inside the door. He pushed the bowl and bread in halfway and then began to release them. If Leonie did not grab them, the food would spill on the floor. Louis was not taking the chance of having his hand or wrist grabbed by a frantic woman.

  Leonie had cursed herself as soon as she realized what Louis feared. She had not even thought of doing that, dolt that she was. However, there are more ways than one of accomplishing any purpose. Leonie did not consider reaching out to grab Louis because she knew he was not at all beyond slamming the door on her arm and breaking it. Instead, she gathered some of the rotten straw they used as beds and bound it around one of her feet, about as wide as the food bowl. When Louis opened the door, she would thrust her protected foot through it and ask what was wrong.

  Henry had wanted to grab the door, wrench it open and attack Louis, but Leonie pointed out it would never work. She was not strong enough to pull the door open, nor was she strong enough to hold Louis. If Papa did succeed in getting the door open, he would be in the wrong position. It was not late enough when Louis brought their food. There were still people
in the building. Louis would only need to run up the stairs, close the door up there and call for help. That would finish any chance of escape for them. On the other hand, if she blocked the door open with no sign of violence, Louis might come in or come closer to push her out of the way. Then they could grab him.

  Only desperation induced Leonie to suggest such a scheme. She did not have much hope that it would work, but she did not think it could do much harm. Louis could hardly be more cautious than he was right now, no matter what they did. And it should be safe because the good food and delicacies suggested that no retribution would be taken.

  n any case, all Leonie’s carefully laid plans went to waste. As the door opened, before she could thrust her foot into it, Louis whispered, “Préparez-vous! Cette nuit! Votre père aussi!”

  While Leonie stood paralyzed with surprise, the bowl was pushed at her, followed by the bread and then—wonder of wonders—two hard sausages. Leonie nearly spilled the stew down her dress while she clutched the sausages to her breast. A hard sausage… “Votre père aussi!” Hard sausage was the concentrated food the poor often carried on a journey. It was quite resistant to spoilage, only growing harder and more spicy with age. It could only mean one thing—escape.

  “What did he say?” Henry asked eagerly.

  “He said,” Leonie repeated in English, “be ready. Tonight. Your father also—oh Papa, perhaps you were right, at least partly. Perhaps there will be an attempt to free us. Look at this!” She thrust the sausage at Henry. “It can only be meant to sustain us while we hide. Papa—do you think…”

  “I do not know what to think,” Henry said slowly. “I could have believed in a revolt against that monster Marot and being freed by my friends when he was finished. But Leonie, they are not—not adventurous or daring men, and most of them are considerably older than I. Can you see Maître Foucalt arranging an escape? Child, I fear—I fear this may be a trap.”