Chapter Thirteen

T ate ordered his coachman to Ramsey’s house in rue d’Orleans. But Ram’s staff were in an uproar.

“We are dispersing, Monsieur Appleby.” His majordom looked exasperated. His hair was on end, his cravat a simple mess. “My master has told me to close the house.”

“Do you have any idea where he is?”

“No, monsieur. He said goodbye to me in a most formal way days ago, and I had the impression I was not to ask where he went or why, and not to expect to ever see him again.”

Then, to Tate’s surprise, he said, “But I am glad you have come here. Do you need money, monsieur?”

Tate was flummoxed. “Why do you ask?”

“Monsieur le Vicomte told me if you called, or if two other gentlemen who are his friends came here, and you needed coin, I should give it to you. Come with me, monsieur.”

The man promptly took him to his own apartment beyond the formal foyer and extracted from a large wall safe some gold coin. “For your escape, monsieur. Vicomte Ramsey took what he needed, and you are to have a share, too.”

Tate was grateful for the gold, which he would use if he had to. It could substitute for any failure of French francs. Not everyone, especially peasants, liked paper money. They distrusted hard-coin francs too, marked though they were with the visage of the French first consul. Tate shook his head. A bad thing, when one led a country where even the money was distrusted.

“One thing more before you go, monsieur,” the majordom bade him. “If you need more help of any kind, le vicomte told me to remind you of another upon whom you may call. That is the man who was the majordom of your other friend, Comte de Ashley.”

Kane’s butler, whom he and Ram had trusted implicitly, was Corsini, an Italian of many talents and many friends. “ Merci beaucoup , monsieur.” Tate paused and smiled, of a sudden remembering Kane’s advice about whom to trust—Corsini, Countess Nugent, and Madame St. Antoine. He’d call upon them all for help, if need be.

Tomorrow, Tate decided, he would go to Kane’s former home in rue Saint-Honoré and learn if Corsini was still in residence. He went home straight away, ordered up supper on a tray in his sitting room, then sat down to compose a long letter to Countess Nugent. In it, he introduced to her the actress Charmaine Massey and told of the young woman’s desire to learn more about the fate of her sister, who may have been sent to Carmes Prison. If Diane had been there, might she also have been there at the same time as the countess? Tate appealed to the lady’s love of justice to receive Charmaine and tell her any details she might know.

The woman had made a reputation for herself in London and in Paris. She was once the young mistress of the Prince of Wales, but that man had married her off to a sickly, simple-minded creature, all to cover the prince’s infatuation with the nubile young girl. Soon after the marriage, the countess disappeared from court. Many speculated as to the cause.

But many months later and a widow, she appeared in Paris. Suddenly she was the talk of the town—and the mistress of the Duc d’Orleans. That man, though a Bourbon close to the throne, increasingly voiced liberal causes. Later dubbed Philippe égalité for his sentiments, he nonetheless was carted off by Robespierre to the guillotine. She was sent to Carmes.

But her friendship with Josephine Beauharnais saved her…and her young charge, a girl Cecily had saved from her parents’ poisoned marriage. The girl was Mademoiselle Amber Gaynor, later to wed and become Madame St. Antoine. That lady was the one Tate had met at the theater that night he discovered Viv acting as Charmaine.

Countess Nugent had long been heralded as a beauty. But she was also wily enough to befriend dutifully those in power. She also saved her reputation by never openly consorting with any other men—and saving the fortunes her two famous lovers had bestowed upon her. She was, despite war, famine, and inflation, a woman worth millions.

That night, when the play closed, Tate was at Viv’s dressing room door to escort her home. At Viv’s house, she took him straight away to her suite.

“My men surround your house and mine. No one comes in or out whom we do not know,” he’d assured her as he slid off her creamy silk negligee and led her to her bed. There they took down each other’s clothes and made long, slow love to each other. He slept as fitfully as Viv, worried about the details of escaping Paris. She, however, pondered what she had learned from the scullery maid. Her contemplation was dark, and he knew in his heart he must not probe, nor lure her from it. The maze of her relationship with her half-sister was a journey only she could take. She must find her own way. Tate knew she would.

*

The next morning, he finished his coffee, stood, and bent over Viv as she remained at her breakfast table. He raised her chin and dropped a warm kiss to her lips.

The night had been theirs, sweet and intimate, the newly found refuge from the storm of their past and their present. The morning, however, swiftly brought their attention to the details of their departure.

He cupped her cheek. “I go to find a man who will help us leave the country quickly. I will return to you when I can.”

Viv loved the shelter of his arms, but knew she should not deter him. “Yet if Countess Nugent arrives, you will want to be here.”

“I do, but if I am not, so be it. Those things you need to know from her, you must ask. Then report to me later, when I return.” He put his lips to hers once more, his kiss the vital reassurance of a new life for them both. “Ask her for all the details. Anything you want to know. I think the lady will be forthcoming. She has not survived the terrors of this country’s violence without a clear vision of others and herself.”

*

He returned to his own house to oversee its closure. He double-checked that Kane had departed Paris. He went to Ramsey’s, too, but that man had not returned to his house.

His friends were truly gone. It was time he and Viv left France.

But first, they would wait for a response from Countess Nugent.

He prayed they would get one—and quickly.

*

After Tate left her, Viv bathed and dressed. She spoke with an upstairs maid when a footman hurried in. He brought on a silver salver a rectangular parchment, fragrant with a perfume of freesias and roses.

At once, Viv broke the seal on the letter. The letter fell open. The fine script confirmed that the correspondent was a lady of repute.

*

My dear Mademoiselle de Massé,

I write hurriedly today to invite you to call upon me. I do this recognizing you may be preparing to leave Paris. The current political situation between our two countries certainly deteriorates. I do think it prudent you leave.

Before you go, however, I ask if you might spare me an hour of your time?

Might you visit me this morning at eleven o’clock? I realize the hour is soon and early for calls; however, time grows short for you here and I wish to be helpful.

Please reply at your earliest convenience.

Yours sincerely,

C

*

The countess lived on ?le Saint-Louis in a very fine h?tel particulier that rumor said was purchased for her by the old Duc d’Orleans, her former patron and lover.

Viv stood in the foyer handing over her gloves and reticule to the lady’s majordom. He ushered her up the winding stairs to the first floor, and as she went, she marveled at the exquisite Carrara marble statues in the niches and the tapestries upon the curved walls. The bouquet wafting through the air at each bend of the stairs spoke of lemon and orange that stirred Viv’s senses and made her pine for rue du Four and what might have been had the mobs never gained power.

The butler showed her down the hall to the open double doors of a grand salon. The walls were a soft lime, the moldings of a lemon cream, while the overstuffed Rococo chairs were upholstered in bright emerald with tiny yellow fleurs-de-lys and the settees were in eye-popping amethyst. The colors stirred one to open one’s mouth and exclaim at the beauty. Of course, as the main drawing room of a lady of Society, the aura inspired one to conversation.

“Welcome, mademoiselle.” Countess Nugent walked toward Viv, one hand out, another on a cane.

“Thank you,” Viv said, smiling, taking the lady’s offered hand. “I am delighted to be here and honored at your invitation.”

“Please come sit down, ma petite .” The lady had a regal elegance to her stride, despite the cane, and a smile that could warm any stranger to become her most loyal friend. “I ordered for us petit déjeuner . Forgive me for asking you to attend me at such an early hour. But I fear you and I need to discuss much, and do it quickly.”

She looked wearied, the lines around her green eyes denoting she was older than her forty-two years. She was exquisitely lovely, with naturally pale pink cheeks and cropped coal-black curls, all the fashion. She was a dramatic figure, tall and sensual, showing her bosom and long arms to perfection in a supple jade silk gown. In her oval face, the most expressive elements were her eyes and lips. But her eyes were dim with some recent sorrow and her mouth was thin with strain. She stood slightly stooped, leaning upon that cane.

The countess led them to the amethyst settees that faced each other. As she walked, the lady drilled her cane into the fine lime-colored carpet. “Do please be seated. I will serve you, if I may?”

“Please do.”

The lady sat and began to pile a plate with the delicacies of cold shrimp, tiny crepes, and glacé strawberries. “I apologize for my cane. I… Well, I have had a stressful family situation occur in the past days. The result is that I have been weakened by the madness. Unwell, truly, if the truth be told. There are too many unruly situations in our city, are there not?”

The countess blinked, as if trying to rally to some challenge and could not match her reputation as a renowned hostess of Parisian beau monde . “I slept late this morning,” she rattled on as she handed over Viv’s plate. “I have not eaten yet this day, and I hoped you might like a few delicacies.”

The woman repeated herself. Whatever had happened to her, it had shaken her confidence. That made Viv doubly grateful for her help, even if she hated the delay in the pertinent conversation of Diane and Carmes. “I would be most happy to do so, Madame la Comtesse. I have heard your chef is a master at his work, and I am eager to try anything you put before me.”

“Good. I like a woman who admits to a strong appetite.” The countess cocked her head to one side. “I see you are no fainting flower.”

Viv managed a true smile—and found fun in the fact that she’d acquired that hunger assuaging Tate Cantrell’s. The countess would find amusement in that, if she knew.

“I have wanted to meet you, mademoiselle. I knew your father and your mother.”

Viv managed a polite nod at that. The lady had met Charmaine and Diane’s mother. Not her own. Her own mama had never ventured into Society after she became the vicomte’s lover.

“How wonderful, Madame le Comtesse.” Viv had to carry this off and hear about those she had lost. “Do you remember them well?”

“I do, indeed. My friend the Duc d’Orleans and your father were quite close for the last few years of their lives.”

How smoothly the lady spoke of the chaos in France during the beginning of the revolution.

“They were close. Orleans was fond of your father, credited him with many fine ideas to change the taxes and levy them less on the poor.”

“As I remember, yes, Papa was devoted to restructuring the burden of taxes.”

“A major cause of all the unrest, yes, it was.”

At that moment, the majordom appeared, carrying a large silver tray filled with small dishes of eggs au gratin . Behind him marched a footman in stark livery of blue and gold trim. That man carried another tray with an urn for hot chocolate. A third appeared with pastries and small tarts the size of Viv’s thumb.

“One of each of those?” The countess’s green eyes glowed over that idea.

“But of course.” Viv would not refuse her hostess.

When they were sated on a few delicacies, the countess began. “I’ve wished to meet with you from the very start of your visit here in Paris. I have not had my usual number of soirées lately. Challenges with family, you see.”

Viv was reminded of what she had read in the gossip sheets about the return of Amber St. Antoine to Paris, that lady’s affair with Tate’s friend Lord Ramsey, and St. Antoine’s apparent secrecy since her return. She merely nodded, silent.

“However, I was eager to have you here with me and my friends,” the countess said. “But after the first consul invited you to his bedroom suite, Madame Bonaparte could not in good grace receive you, and she always attends my parties. Hence, I could not invite you here.”

“Please you need not apologize for that. I do understand.”

“I hated the gossip about that incident with Monsieur Bonaparte, but I am proud of you for standing up to him.”

Viv demurred. “Actually, madame, I stood up to his valet, Monsieur Constant!”

They both gave little laughs over that.

Viv had to add a few titillating details. “The first consul kept me waiting so long, I lost patience. But you must know that I did not wish to be his newest conquest. So I took the opportunity to leave him. I gave the excuse of my work. I am often exhausted by a performance and need my sleep to recover.” Plus, I was frightened to death.

The countess grinned. “Madame Bonaparte adored the story.”

Viv cast her a leery glance. “I am certain her husband did not.”

The countess grew stern. “In fact, he was very unkind.”

“To stretch the truth to say I was in his bedroom? Yes. So I heard it sung in a few vaudeville songs in the streets. But I was never in Bonaparte’s bedroom, madame. I was in his secretary Bourrienne’s!”

They had another small chuckle over that.

Viv could not contain her anger of the incident with Bonaparte. “In truth, I was very pleased to escape.”

“You come from a noble and ancient family. No one should abuse you, my dear.”

“Thank you.”

“But I have brought you here today to tell you about a few who have abused those you have loved and lost. I am grateful for your friend Lord Appleby’s letter explaining to me your desire to learn more about my time in Carmes.”

Viv put her china and her serviette to the table before her.

The countess checked Viv’s appearance, clearly looking for any indication of distress at the subject. Viv had girded herself for this, and she prayed she did not dissolve in tears.

The countess inhaled. “The world changes yet again now that France and England go to war once more. This conflict will be long, and time is of the essence for me to right a few wrongs, and save those I love and others for whom I care. You see, I loved your mother. She was a woman who loved well, regardless of Society.”

Viv forced herself not to react to the lady’s words. Truly, it seemed as if the countess spoke of her mother, Madeleine. Yet how could she? Viv was here as Charmaine…unless the countess perceived she was the half-sister. Tate would not have revealed that to her. Viv was truly bewildered, but could only continue her ruse here as Charmaine.

“I had great affinity with your mother in many things. What would she say about your attempt to learn the fate of Diane, hmmm?”

She would say that I have the right to know what happened to Diane. But no business doing Charmaine’s work of revenge for it. “ She would want to learn what you may know.”

“So then, it is only you and your young half-sister left of your family. What was her name?”

The sister who is more than half? The one everyone forgets suffered as well as the others. Viv bit her cheek. “Vivienne.”

“ Oui. That was her name. Little Vivacious! Does she wish to know what happened to Diane?”

“She does.”

“It is not a pretty tale.”

“I did not expect it to be.”

“Very well,” the countess said. “For your happiness, to answer whatever may be a question in your mind about the past, I will reveal what little I know.

“Your sister Diane was a darling girl. Charming, strong, impervious to the threats of the guards. She was a beacon of light to many. She took up for all of us and all the sorrows we bore. She clamored for more food, better than the gruel they gave us. She wanted fresh water for us to wash with. She asked for time in the garden for us all, not for the flowers, because they were gone, trampled, but for the sunshine for our wellbeing.

“Sometimes, she was successful. A guard took pity on one or all of us. But more often they took advantage of any they wanted. Many young women were abused by these bastards who lusted for power.”

The countess took a drink of her hot chocolate.

“Diane was lovely, delicate in face and form. She was healthy, and the concierge of Carmes was attracted to her. Much too enamored of her. But she did not care for him, and ridiculed him.

“My own child, a young girl I brought up in my household, knew your sister better than I. If she knows more, I am certain she would tell you.”

“Madame St. Antoine?”

The countess nodded, her lips thin with dismay. “Exactly her. My bright, good girl. I know she would help you if she could, but I am afraid she is ill. Very ill. So very…incapacitated that she may lie dying.”

“Madame!” Viv took the lady’s hand. “I am so sorry.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you.” The countess reached into a tiny pocket of her gown and took out a handkerchief. She dabbed at her tears. “Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive, madame. Nothing.” Viv squeezed the woman’s slim fingers. “I do not wish to upset you more. But I must ask this.”

The countess contemplated Viv with tears in her eyes. “I know what you want.”

Viv glanced at their entwined hands.

“Diane often talked about her memories of that night she was taken from your carriage. She was quite clear.”

Viv sat stock-still. This was the part of Diane’s fate that caused her to go numb. Today she had to listen and remember. She could not block out her own failure. Somehow she had to hear this and accept what she had done—and failed to do.

The countess wiped her cheeks. “Diane remarked that the crowd called for her. The one with the red hair. Not the blonde girls. Diane knew she had been targeted. She knew not how. She knew not why. But she was.

“She recalled that a young friend of the family ran after her. She heard him call to her. She said she looked back and saw him. He was then a viscount—he is this friend of yours, the Earl of Appleby, who wrote to me?”

Viv smiled. “Yes. The earl is that same man.”

“Diane had recollections that her younger sister’s little dog—Beau, perhaps?”

“Yes, Beau,” Viv assured her with a twist to her heartstrings.

“Beau jumped from the carriage too and ran after her. But neither of them caught up to her. She was hurried away. To the prison. Straight away.”

Viv’s head spun. To hear that last detail, that Tate ran to save Diane, and Beau followed, always stopped her heart. Whenever she spoke of it with Charmaine, Viv lost her awareness of where she was, what she did. All she recalled was the fright of having lost Diane.

Her feeling was the fright of the girl she had been. Her regret was the sorrow of not having run after Diane’s abductors. Such was her grief and self-criticism. Yes, she hated to hear it recounted, but was triumphant that at last she had confirmation that Diane knew Tate and Beau had tried to get to her. Tate and Beau…

“Diane said she never expected that anyone would leave the carriage to try to get her back.” The woman’s face held no rebuke.

But Viv felt the reproach like a slap in the face. For Charmaine, who had not moved an inch that night. Had not tried. And for herself! Yes, for herself, too! All these years, I saw myself like Charmaine. A coward. Afraid to die, I remained in the carriage.

The countess gazed at her with some small compassion.

“I am not proud.” Viv spoke aloud for once in her life the words she had never uttered and should have. “I am not proud I did not help. I am ashamed, very ashamed.”

The countess focused narrowly on her eyes. “You were a child.”

“Thirteen!” Viv blurted, speaking as herself, not Charmaine. “I could have tried. I should have.”

“You were young, tender, and terrified. You must forgive yourself.”

“I—I cannot.” I have told Tate to do the same, and yet I cannot excuse my own failure.

“Forgiveness is a gift we grant others. Often, we do ourselves the disservice of withholding it from our own soul. We are as human as the next, ma petite . Time will allow it. This I know.”

“I am not certain of that,” Viv went on, her heart pounding like a drum. She would declare to this lady, and now to all who asked, how cowardly she had been that night, never to try to save her sister. “You are right, madame, to look at me with a jaundiced eye. I am a wretch. And I do wish to make amends for what I did not do that night. I cannot bring back my sister. But it has haunted me, my other sister, and my…my Aunt Madeleine for what happened to Diane. We never knew. And so, if you do know, if you can say, would you please tell me what happened to our dear girl?”

The countess took a deep breath. “Diane made of herself a nuisance to the concierge of the prison. She was lovely, but used her wit and her tongue to bedevil him and the guards. She was often sent to a private cell in a corridor where those who caused trouble were sequestered. She was always demanding something, criticizing the guards and the concierge. The guards hated her and often tried to…influence her to stop her harassment.”

“You mean that they beat her?” Viv asked, hoping it was not true.

“They did. She usually recovered quickly, though I must tell you, over time, she was weakened by them. But one day another girl was brought in, and they were merciless with her. I don’t know who she was or what she did, but they intended to starve her to death. Your sister gave the girl her own rations. When the guards found that, they took your sister away. We never saw her ever again.”

Tears rolled down both their faces then. They sat, crying silently together.

At last, Viv recovered her voice. “I would hope—with good friends and proper guidance, madame—that I might make recompense for the wrong done my sister. So I ask you if you know any names of those guards or of the concierge.” It might be wrong of me to want revenge when I cannot take it on myself for my part in this. But still, I want this.

The lady shook her head. “No. I once knew many names, but it has been years.”

Viv pressed her handkerchief to her mouth and tried to accept that this was the end of her search.

“But I do know the name of the police who brought your sister to the prison.”

“You do?” Viv could scarcely believe it.

“Diane talked about him often. He came to see her many times. Whatever he told her of that night, she had reason to believe him when he said he was the one who had turned her in.”

“Did he tell her how that happened?”

“Only that the one he really wanted was your father. To my knowledge, Diane never breathed a word of your father’s whereabouts. The man who arrested her was furious at that.”

“Who was he? Do you know?”

The countess went white as marble. “He is a powerful man now. A man with whom few should tangle. Are you sure you wish to know?”

Viv took the woman’s hand. “I do. Please tell me.”

“He is the deputy chief of police.”

Viv could not breathe. “Vaillancourt.”

“René Vaillancourt.”

*

Viv ordered her coachman to take her to Tate’s house. Her outrage was nothing to her grief, which was a caged beast in her chest.

She had always pushed aside thoughts of how she had failed to join Tate and Beau to rescue Diane that night, but now…now this knowledge that Diane had been so upright, and so abused, tore her in two.

Now, too, she had confirmation that the man responsible for Diane’s imprisonment was René Vaillancourt. How and why that happened, she would learn. Oh, the scullery maid could cast blame. The countess could remark on it. But Viv now burned with the need to hear it all from the culprit’s lips. Somehow, she would wheedle it out of the man. She knew Tate would want to be present. Indeed, she also knew that he would be a bulwark against anything aggressive Vaillancourt might say or do. She was brave, but to have Tate with her was also prudent.

Arriving at Tate’s house, she balked when she noted the front door stood ajar.

She climbed down, but her attention went up the street, where two men scuffled in the road. One was a gendarme, and he wielded his club on the other man’s back with a blunt precision resounding in the square.

Viv hurried up the steps of Tate’s entryway. His majordom appeared at once inside, supervising two footmen who hammered nails into a large wooden crate.

“ S’il vous pla?t , monsieur,” she addressed Tate’s man, “announce me to your master.”

“Mademoiselle de Massé.” The man bowed. But his face was white, his manner stark with fright. “Monsieur le Comte is not here.”

“No? Do you have any idea when he will return?”

The majordom’s eyes went wide. “Soon, soon.”

One of the footmen murmured something about the earl having learned who followed her around town.

Viv took heart. “He has discovered who is it who follows me?” she asked the majordom and the footman. “That’s wonderful.”

“ Oui , mademoiselle. He said he will return as soon as possible. We here are to continue to pack up the house.”

“I see.” She bit her lower lip. “I will return to my own house, then. Please tell him I called upon him.”

“ Oui , mademoiselle. I am certain he will be with you as soon as he can.”

But as she stepped outside, she stopped to note the scuffle of the two in the street. The gendarme had wrestled the other man to the cobbles. The fellow howled at the blows the gendarme delivered.

She turned back to the Tate’s men. “What goes on here?”

The majordom looked like death had come for him. “That poor fellow is Mr. Winslow Aldrich, a neighbor who rented a house a few doors north. He is British, mademoiselle. And dozens of gendarmes have been in this street all morning, arresting any British who remain.”

She caught her breath. “Enemies,” she whispered.

“Hurry home, mademoiselle. Word is they march those men to prison.”

“Carmes?” she asked.

“Carmes. La Force. Verdun. Who knows?”

She swallowed her fears for Tate. He must not be taken. He was her hope and her love. “I shall await your master at my house. Please tell him to come as soon as possible.”