The English Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  Panel merely laughed at that, and Leonie ground her teeth. Danou had not forgotten the writing materials. He did not want her to write, expecting she would complain about her dog and her treatment. They intended, she supposed, to say she had taken advantage of Chaumette’s leniency, tried to escape, refused to write…anything to discredit her. Furious, Leonie pounded on the door, but Panel only laughed again, enjoying her frustration, and she finally stopped.

  The slow hours passed. Leonie tried one device after another without success. When she asked to go to the jakes, she was told to use the chamber pot in her room. When she asked for water, she was told there was a jug of it on her tray. When she begged for the needle and thread promised to her, for a book, for a candle, she received no answer at all. She thought of trying to break the lock with the butt of one of the pistols, but she was afraid to use the gun that way while it was loaded, and to unload it would place her at the same disadvantage as shooting off the lock. It would warn the men that she found a weapon of some kind.

  Rage and frustration brought tears again, and she cast herself down on the bed, exhausted with tension. The house was utterly silent, the room dark as pitch. Leonie thought wearily that it was just as well no one had responded to her last few attempts to get the men into her room. She would have to wait until the next day to escape now. It was very dangerous to be out on the streets after dark, especially for a woman. Robespierre, with his mania for “purity”, was particularly violent against ladies of the night. If they were caught plying their trade, they were executed. She must stop being foolish, Leonie admonished herself. She must go to sleep as soon as possible so that she could wake early and be ready. Danou had to bring her food.

  Resolution, which can accomplish many things, is unfortunately of very little assistance in obtaining sleep. Although Leonie removed her clothes and tucked her pistols under the pillow, she did not find any rest. She tried one position, then another, tried to keep her mind blank because she knew her thoughts would not be conducive to sleep. Still, frustration and misery take their own toll, and at last Leonie drifted from miserable images of what she might have accomplished if she had not urged Fifi to escape, into uneasy dreams filled with images of the past. A recurring dream of escape, which had not troubled her since Roger’s rescue took hold of her again. She heard the stairs of the Saulieu Hôtel de Ville creak under surreptitious footsteps, heard the snick of the lock as the door opened. Her hands reached out to wake her mother—

  “Eager, aren’t you?” There was a leer in Panel’s voice. “You don’t have to hurry. We have all night.”

  A rough hand seized Leonie’s breast. She was still half asleep, and her dream switched to nightmare. The bedclothes hampered her limbs so that she felt held down, as she had been that night her virginity was torn from her with such violence. Terror laid an additional weight on her so that her struggles were mere twitches and her throat was too dry to scream.

  * * * * *

  Deep asleep after her enormous exertions, Fifi also dreamed little dog dreams of hunting and playing. The house was dark and quiet for several hours while Roger waited in the attic for Pierre to arrive. Then, very faintly, voices invaded the dreams of play, but Fifi’s name was not mentioned and she was accustomed to voices around her while she slept. However, she did drift closer to waking, that special sense that brings dogs instantly alert when they are called. But the voices stopped, and Fifi slept again. The worst of her exhaustion was over though, so that when the odor of cooking oozed around the cracks in the door, her nose twitched and quivered. Then, dimly, there was the voice of the god. Instantly, Fifi was aware of hunger, of cold, ills the god could cure. She leaped against the door, scratching and barking.

  Roger, who had just taken a large mouthful of food, very nearly choked to death at the sound. Gasping, he lurched to his feet, almost overturning the table in his eagerness, and wrenched open the door. Fifi bounded in, draggled tail waving high, and he swept her up into his arms, regardless of the wet and mud, hugging her so tight that she yelped in protest.

  “Fifi,” he gasped, “Fifi! That was what Leonie meant! She sent Fifi for us. Let’s go! Pierre—”

  “Stop squeezing that poor dog,” Pierre exclaimed, “or Mademoiselle de Conyers will find her pet dead when we release her. And what do you mean, go? We have just agreed—”

  “But we don’t need to force Chaumette to tell us where Leonie is. Fifi can take us to her,” Roger interrupted, caressing the little dog more gently.

  Pierre stared at his friend and then began to shake his head. “It is a miracle that the dog found her way home. It is impossible that she should find her way back to a place she does not know well.” Roger’s grip tightened, and Fifi grunted with the stress, but forgivingly stretched up to lick the god’s face. Pierre shook his head again. “Have some sense, my friend,” he urged. “Look at the poor animal. She must have been wandering for hours.”

  It was impossible to deny that. The wet from Fifi’s fur had soaked through Roger’s shirt. He exclaimed, got a cloth and rubbed her somewhat dryer, and then scraped nearly all his own meal into her plate. The enthusiasm with which Fifi attacked this largesse confirmed Pierre’s contention, implying that the dog had not been fed for some considerable time. However, Roger would not accept this as proof that Fifi did not know the way. He leaped, instead, to the ridiculous conclusion that Leonie was being starved, and nothing Pierre said had the slightest effect on him.

  When it became obvious that Roger would go alone if Pierre continued to argue against the project, the smuggler agreed. He had realized that it would not actually be a dangerous enterprise nor waste much time. Two commissioners walking together in the street probably would not be questioned. He would go with Roger until his friend could be convinced that Fifi was wandering at random. Then they would go to the ship, collect the men, and proceed with the plan. He won a little delay by convincing Roger to let Fifi rest awhile after her meal, but the little bitch’s alertness as Roger picked up everything he wanted to take showed she was no longer exhausted.

  Another delay was caused by trying to decide whether it was safe to let Fifi out by herself. Fortunately, before it was necessary to do that, Roger remembered the sling that Leonie had prepared to carry the dog when they first thought they might need to escape that way. Fifi did not like it. She protested with wiggles and yelps, but Roger managed to quiet her, and he and Pierre made their way safely over the slippery slates and down a knotted rope looped around the chimney of the last house into end of the alley. Here Roger released Fifi, cautioning her again to be quiet.

  “Find Leonie,” he said, his heart thudding sickly between prayer for a miracle and disbelief.

  To Fifi, such a command was perfectly logical and fit all the rules of the game she knew. She now remembered that she had been told to “find Roger”. She had done it and had been rewarded, as was proper, with a delectable treat—Roger’s dinner. Of course, Fifi did not know that, nor was she confused by any memory of being lost between the time she was told to find Roger and the finding. Now it fit perfectly that she should be told to go back to the goddess. Tail high, she trotted out of the alley and unerringly turned in the direction taken by the carriage she had followed. Roger looked at Pierre, his eyes full of such pleading that the smuggler could not bear to destroy his hope.

  “Well,” he temporized, “she seems to be very sure of where she wants to go.”

  Hastily the men knotted the illicit scarves of office around them, lit the lantern they had prepared, and set out to follow the dog. For all of Roger’s brave words, he was almost as surprised as Pierre at Fifi’s steady trot and purposeful manner. Naturally, as hope grew stronger, he tried to depress it, telling himself that Fifi might merely be following a route she had often taken when walking with Leonie. But the little dog did not stop to sniff or leave her mark. She forged steadily ahead until it was obvious they were beyond any reasonable walk for a dog or even for shopping. Pierre slapped Rog
er gently on the shoulder.

  “By God, I think you were right. I think your Fifi does know where she’s going. Listen, Roger, do we dare stop her, or will it mix her up? We can’t simply walk up to the house and knock on the door. We must plan something, some way to get in.”

  “I won’t stop her,” Roger replied quickly, “but we don’t have to knock. Fifi will.”

  Pierre looked puzzled, then grinned and nodded. Of course, the dog would bark and scratch at the door until someone woke to let her in. He and Roger would only have to wait out of sight beside the door. When it opened, they would burst in. Content with this plan, the men followed Fifi, their hope growing stronger as the little creature began to pick up speed without losing a bit of her determination. In fact, they had a bad scare when Fifi broke into a run and darted down an alleyway. They had to run too, and would have missed her altogether, except that an errant gleam of the bobbing lantern picked up a splash of white on her coat as she wriggled through the gate.

  Fifi knew nothing of the dangers surrounding her mistress. She was totally unaware of the plan Roger and Pierre had to get into the house. She was only delighted at having played the game of “finding” so perfectly. Dimly she was aware that the distance for finding had been unusually long, and this added to her joy because she knew the goddess always made a bigger fuss than usual when she found someone far away. The god had been very pleased. He had caressed her almost too much and had given her a marvelous dinner. Thus, Fifi was most anxious to get to Leonie. She wiggled franticly through the fence and galloped to the door, barking shrilly.

  “Stop, Fifi!” Roger ordered in an agonized tone.

  What a fool he had been! He should have grabbed her when she began to run. He should have tied a rope to her or had some way to control her. There was no way for him or Pierre to get over the wall in time to surprise anyone who came to the door. Nonetheless, Pierre dropped the lantern he had been carrying and both of them leaped desperately, trying to get a handgrip between the spikes on the wall to pull themselves over. Fifi might not be heard immediately, or whoever was in the house might be slow to answer her summons because it was so late.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  To Leonie, each second that had passed since her rude awakening had seemed like an eon of torment. She felt that the hand on her breast had squeezed her nipple forever, that the stinking breath had choked her forever, that she had been paralyzed by sick loathing and fear forever. The thin yapping that came through the closed window jolted her mind out of its numb horror. Fifi! Fifi was not dead!

  Time and place whirled and then steadied into reality. Leonie recognized that she was only held gently by the blankets, not forcibly restrained by Marot’s henchmen. In the same moment Panel’s head lifted as he too, heard Fifi’s barking. He hesitated, knowing he had to let the creature in to silence her but reluctant to leave the delights he had only begun to taste. He was a stupid brute, wholly unable to recognize any emotions he did not himself feel, and had easily convinced himself that all of Leonie’s actions had been inspired by a desire for him.

  Throughout the day he had not responded in any way that would give Danou cause for suspicion. However, Danou had gone home, or out, for the night. During the day both were on duty so that Leonie might never need to be left alone, but at night, when she was locked in her room, one man was allowed to go off duty. Panel was thus alone in the house and did not fear interruption from Danou. Neither did he fear that Leonie would reject him. His hesitation to leave her was solely because of his reluctance to break the rising sensation of lust that was gripping him. But at the same time he knew he could not permit the dog to go on barking. That might arouse the neighbors’ curiosity.

  “Lousy bitch,” Panel groaned, and began to heave himself away from Leonie.

  Hatred and disgust were already boiling in her. Now terror for Fifi was added to the mix. Leonie was sure that Panel would kill the little dog as soon as she came in. Her hand slid under her pillow. As she withdrew the pistol, she cocked it, pushed it right against Panel’s head and fired. He was dead before he fell forward atop her, but Leonie did not know that immediately. To her frightened mind it seemed as if he had dodged the bullet and was attempting to restrain her. She struggled wildly, striving to grasp her other pistol and throw off the limp weight that was crushing her.

  Roger and Pierre heard the shot as they came over the wall. Each crouched instinctively for a second or two, both assuming that a guard had fired at them. For Roger the movement was only a momentary shrinking. He was far more afraid of the reprisal that might be taken on Leonie than of whatever danger threatened him. Accordingly, he sprang to his feet almost at once and ran through the dark in the direction of Fifi’s yapping. Pierre shouted at him to wait, then realized that no second shot had been fired and rushed to follow him. To Pierre the silence was proof that their enemies were wily. They did not waste ammunition shooting into the dark. Plainly they were saving their balls and powder for shots at a surer target.

  He called a warning to Roger, who paid not the slightest attention. Cursing all women and their effect on men, Pierre followed his friend as swiftly as caution allowed, dodging and weaving but moving fast. When he heard the explosion of another shot much closer, he cursed aloud. It was very difficult to see in the dark, but it seemed to him that the door had opened just as the shot rang out and Roger had fallen forward into the greater darkness within the house. The dog’s yapping stopped simultaneously. Pierre fairly leaped forward, throwing caution to the wind, only hoping to get to the door before Roger was dragged inside.

  The sound of that second shot, which Roger had fired to break the lock on the door, and the cessation for Fifi’s barking drew a wail of bitter anguish and rage from Leonie. She was still pinned down by Panel’s body because she had been struggling single-mindedly to get her second pistol. Now, galvanized by rage, she gave a frantic heave and the limp corpse rolled aside. The lack of resistance told Leonie what she previously failed to notice, that her shot had been effective. However, at the moment she felt neither satisfaction nor horror. She was intent only on revenging poor Fifi, who she believed, had returned from the dead only to be more finally destroyed by Danou’s pistol.

  Half mad with rage and grief, Leonie pulled her second gun from under the pillow and rushed out into the corridor and to the head of the stairs. A dark form was just turning from the lower hallway to mount the staircase. Leonie had the alternative of waiting until she could discharge her pistol at point-blank range or firing immediately. If she waited, she could not miss, but if her pistol misfired or she only wounded the man, there would be no escape for her because she would be within his grasp. If she fired immediately, there was only a small chance that she would miss her target completely. He could not dodge and he was below her in a straight line. She, however, could run back to her room, perhaps block or lock the door, and have time to reload her guns.

  Without more ado, Leonie pulled the trigger. However, in the second or two it had taken to make her decision, Fifi, who had stopped barking when Roger opened the door, now scented the goddess and let out a shrill yap of joy, darting up the stairs between Roger’s legs and causing him to stumble forward. Leonie had aimed for the broadest part of the body, the chest, hoping that even if the man climbed more quickly than she expected the bullet would still hit him. Roger’s fall saved him, the bullet merely creasing the top of his shoulder. Nonetheless, the shock of tripping and the sudden, hot stab of pain wrung a resounding English oath out him.

  “Roger!” Leonie shrieked, casting away her pistol and nearly falling down the stairs herself in her anxiety.

  The English oath had made the whole situation clear to her. Fifi, against all expectation, had found Roger and led him back—and I have killed him! Leonie thought. Hysteria rose in her, but before it could break, Roger’s head lifted.

  “Leonie!” he exclaimed, and then he gasped, “Leonie!” She was stark naked.

  “Have I hurt you,
beloved?” she cried.

  Pierre, rushing down the corridor after Roger, had cowered aside instinctively at the sound of Leonie’s shot and raised his own pistol, but had to jerk aside again when he was nearly brained by Leonie’s flying gun. By then the voices had made clear that there was no immediate enemy and he started forward, only to turn his back. It was dark in the hallway, but the white gleam of Leonie’s body was unmistakable. Still, the shot—and Roger had fallen… Pierre was wondering whether he should go to his friend’s assistance at the risk of offending Leonie’s modesty, when Roger answered the girl’s question in a voice of such strength, which displayed only mingled relief and irritation, that he felt it more expedient to stay where he was.

  “What the devil are you doing with that gun—and stark naked?” Roger roared, getting to his feet.

  “Thank God,” Leonie sobbed. “Oh, thank God I missed.”

  “Yes, never mind that,” Roger growled, ignoring the ache and the trickle of blood from the slight wound, and struggling out of his coat. “I have been dying with fear for you, and I find you defending this house. Did you agree to play this game of Chaumette’s?”

  “No,” Leonie gasped, but she scarcely heard what Roger said. In the relief of knowing herself safe, the horrors of this dreadful day—which had culminated in Panel’s attack on her, his death and Roger’s miraculous escape from death by her hands—was too much for her. She felt herself being wrapped in something, and that made her whirling mid fix on Roger’s question. Why was she naked? But that was a crazy thing to ask. Roger must know that her abductors had brought no nightclothes or linen with them. Of course she was naked. She could not sleep in her shift, which she had worn all day. It needed airing. Besides, there were other things to worry about that were far more important than what she wore to bed. Where was Danou?

  That question checked for a moment the dizzy spinning in Leonie’s brain. Her eyes searching the corridor and fastened on Pierre, who was just turning to face them, having judged from the sounds that Roger had covered his woman. To Leonie that slow movement spelled doom. She was sure it was Danou, who had been lying in wait in one of the rooms and now had them trapped. Uttering a choked cry of warning, Leonie tried to throw herself forward to protect Roger. To him it seemed as if she were trying to get past him, to escape him, and the agony of the last few days exploded into raw rage so that he slapped her, forehand and backhand.