Chapter 28

28

C yril was ill-at-ease, waiting at the entrance to the tunnel. He hated being in the deserted school when it was not yet fully dark, but he had no choice. The drop would be at eleven o’clock. He was also annoyed with himself for being so claustrophobic he couldn’t do the job himself. That’s how he had gotten into trouble in the first place those twenty years ago. He should have just done it. He knew, even as he chastised himself, that he never could have. A childhood spent locked in a cellar with rats left him utterly incapable of setting foot in a closed, dark space.

He might have underestimated Jean. The man had not been surprised to see him when he exited the tunnel the other night. “Don’t bother killing me or you’ll never get the painting,” was all he had said when Cyril confronted him with a gun. “I’ve seen exactly where it is, and I know how to get it and when to get it. You won’t like it, but it has to be the same night you meet with your buyer.”

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like leaving things to the last minute, and he didn’t like the lack of control he had over this situation. If he didn’t deliver the painting this time around, things would end badly for him. It was no longer about his reputation; over the years he had become indebted to Vlad and no longer called all the shots. Now he worried that Jean had managed to find a different way out of the tunnel.

Jean, meanwhile, had reached his destination and had torn down the stone wall as quietly as he could. He climbed over it, and was now sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, just around the corner from where the gate was visible. The basement was absolutely quiet, though he could hear noises coming from upstairs, telling of the large crowds. The gardener—whose identity was revealed to Jean via a short blurb on page ten of the local newspaper simply by going missing—had not steered him wrong when he told him to attempt it this evening. He willfully relaxed his muscles and slowed his breathing as he waited.

Charles and Chastity were standing on the edge of the crowd of swirling people. “Let’s dance.” Charles didn’t wait for an answer and took Chastity into his arms. He applied pressure on her back to pull her close and led her in the waltz. She didn’t exactly float in his arms, but she was much freer and more relaxed than she had been at the lesson. “You’re getting good at this.”

She stared at his vest, and it allowed him a brief respite from his feelings. He didn’t dare look at her too long or their first kiss would end up being a very public one. He was silent as he led her in step to the music, but finally teased in a formal tone, “You are trembling, mademoiselle.”

She responded in kind. “I am nervous, monsieur.”

“Don’t be,” he said, simply. “You’re with me.”

Jean pressed a button on his watch to show the time; it was nearly 9:30. He stood quietly, intending to move as soon as he heard the fireworks. It had not been difficult to find a schedule of the events for the evening since it was open to the public. It wasn’t until 9:35 that he heard the first boom , and at that he went swiftly to the gate, opened it, and only paused at the end of the corridor to make sure no one was there before crossing the room. No one came, and no alarms went off as he walked to the exposed wall. Prepared, he took the small explosive device from the pocket of his vest, and began unscrewing the section that held the tripwire.

“Isabelle, where is Louis going?” Samuel saw him slip out of the crowd as soon as the fireworks started.

She looked at him in alarm. “Oh no, no, no. If he’s going off to use drugs again, we have to stop him.” They broke away from the crowd and just caught sight of Louis as he rounded the chateau, heading towards the side entrance. “Come on. I think I know where he’s going.”

The fresh night air, as they stood facing the fountain, helped clear Charles’s head. He hadn’t felt anything like this in so long he had trouble thinking clearly. He stood with Chastity in the exact spot he had occupied at the last fireworks display over twenty years earlier. He put his arm around her again and breathed in the perfume she was wearing. His senses came to life, and his body buzzed with contentment. He felt the curve of her waist, and as he pulled her closer, caught the soapy scent of her hair. So that’s where the lavender comes from. The fireworks started, and he was hovering between two planes of existence. In one, he was falling hard for a woman for the first time in almost two decades. In another, his mind started to unravel the problem that was nagging him, which seemed to call to him as if from a dream. Boom, boom, boom echoed from a distance.

Suddenly, he gasped. The gardening tools.

“Chastity, wait here,” he whispered, then skirted the crowd to enter through the front doorway, which had been left open. She obeyed for only a few seconds before following him.

Samuel was now in the lead, trailing Louis. He saw him head towards the basement, say something to the security guard, and slip through the door.

Isabelle stopped suddenly, her mouth open. “That’s the back stairwell that leads to the old kitchen. Where’s he going?” They rushed up to the guard, who put his hand out to stop them, looking at Samuel suspiciously.

“He’s with me,” Isabelle said. The guard didn’t register any sign of recognition. “Come on. Jef knows me. He came here with my mom tonight. I’m the viscount’s niece.” She stomped her foot impatiently.

“ Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle .” The guard mumbled something about just doing his job. He stepped to the side and they rushed through.

The mini explosion had worked perfectly, and Jean had been fortunate enough to time it with an explosion of fireworks, which was not something that could be planned. He had set the device high enough so no sparks would damage the painting, but now he needed to pull away at some of the plaster so he could reach in and grab it. Even when he stretched his arm down as far as he could, he wasn’t able to feel the edge of the painting. He focused on working as quickly as he could, while making as little noise as possible. He just needed to pull this off and get out of here.

Charles raced down the main staircase of the cellar, not registering the click of high heels behind him. It occurred to him that he should have had a guard stationed here, too, so he could get some reinforcements, but he didn’t want to waste time calling for any until he was sure his hunch was right. He remembered, once when he was young, Pierre showing him how the key to the shed could slide into the handle of the gardening tool and screw in place. It had been made that way as a safeguard so the gardener wouldn’t drop the key in the flowerbeds while he was working. There must have been another key hidden in those tools, but what could they open? He knew the answer was in the basement.

Jean reached down until he managed to grasp the edge of the painting with his fingertips. He pulled it to the edge of the hole, and paused to breathe before slipping it through. He brought the delicate canvas to the light sconce and examined it for damage. Ah. The cellar was dry, and the painting was in near perfect condition. He released his breath. This was all going to work out.

Footsteps. He leaped to his feet and took out his gun. Holding the painting in one hand and the gun in the other, he started to run back towards the iron gate. If he could get through and lock it, it would buy him enough time to make his way through the tunnel and out the secondary exit he had discovered, which exited at the stables. Before he could get to the opening, the viscount came running up from the left. Viscount de Brase stopped short and showed his hands as soon as the gun appeared.

Before either could say a word, two more pairs of feet skidded to a stop.

“Jean,” Louis shouted, coming in from the right—angry, but not all that surprised.

“Marc,” yelled Chastity, coming up behind the viscount, almost speechless with astonishment. The color drained from her face as the revelation hit her. “Jean-Marc,” she said with a shake of her head, remembering the christian name his parents gave him that none of his friends used. “How could you?”

He was not destined to answer because Samuel, who had been following Louis, crept along the wall out of sight. He had picked up a large vase from a nearby table and, edging towards the thief, smashed it over his head, sending him crumpled to the floor.

With the thief in a heap at his feet, Samuel turned to Charles. “I’m sorry about your vase.”

Charles exhaled and gave a small laugh. “I didn’t like it anyway.” He peered past Samuel. “Oh. Hi, Jef. Nice of you to show up.”

“Adelaide saw you all leave.” His friend had the decency to look sheepish. “Looks like you handled it just fine without me.” He took out a pair of handcuffs, and pulled the thief’s wrists behind him roughly, just as he was starting to come to. He snapped the cuffs in place. “Christoph, get the guys down here,” he said on his radio. “We’re in the basement.”

Charles walked over to Samuel and shook his hand. “I owe you. How did you know to come down here?”

“We were following Louis,” Isabelle piped up. “Louis, what were you doing down here? Did you know this was going to happen?”

“I was late getting to the fireworks, and when I was walking around the crowd, I saw a flash of light coming from the basement window. So I left and went to investigate. It looked like the light was coming from the old kitchen so I went there first, and when I didn’t find anything, I came here.”

A crowd was beginning to form, although the guards had carried out their instructions and had allowed only staff and family downstairs. Charles watched his brother-in-law assist his mother into the room, her eyes fixed on the painting that lay on the floor.

Jef was still on his radio. “Rémy, go talk to the police officer in charge about getting someone over to the Fenley school in case there’s an accomplice waiting on that side of the tunnel. Be discreet, though. We don’t want him to get wind of it.”

“Good call, Jef.” Charles hadn’t underestimated the benefits of working with someone who knew the chateau as well as he did.

Chastity watched as the viscount’s mother cradled the painting in her hands—the one that had caused her late husband’s demise. Her hooded eyes were filled with tears. “Maman, you need to sit down,” her eldest daughter urged and led her to a chair.

Then she looked at the father of her child—the man she had even allowed to spend time alone with him—and she was filled with nausea. Jef had an arm on his elbow, and Marc refused to look at her. Charles was not paying any attention to her either, but was alternating his focus between the officers around him, and his mother, who was now leaning on him for support.

I don’t belong here , thought Chastity. Her face was hot and her pulse was racing. She couldn’t lift her eyes from the precious painting that now lay on a table between two guards. Her gaze darted to the viscount’s mother who had begun to find her speech. “How did this…? How could he…?”

Chastity didn’t wait a moment longer. No one will even notice I’m gone. She stifled a small sob and slipped away noiselessly.