Chapter Fifteen

V iv whirled from Vaillancourt to the hall. To the stairs. Blind, groping to find a reality amid the nightmare the man painted for her, she struggled to go on. With each step, she felt despair grab her and squeeze the air from her. If he had taken Tate, she would find him. Free him.

But she made the staircase, seized the railing, and flew away from him and his vile words.

She rounded the landing, and at the bottom stood an illusion of hope.

She halted. Vaillancourt’s boots on the stairs announced his presence behind her. She blinked at the sight before her. Then shut her eyes.

She opened them and confirmed what she saw. No fantasy, this.

Tate stood in the foyer, four men armed with pistols behind him. The majordom of Vaillancourt stood at attention at the foot of the stairs. He was wide-eyed, incredulous.

“Come down, sweetheart.” Tate smiled softly at her, but then skewered Vaillancourt with his fierce blue-green eyes. “Come quickly, darling. My men and I have this under our control.”

She took the last steps down to walk to Tate’s side. He took her hand. Carefully, he stepped backward with her to the entrance door.

“I suggest, monsieur,” Tate growled to the deputy chief of police, “you replace your house guard. They need to be sacked for dereliction of duty. As for the men you trained to track mademoiselle and me, well, monsieur, I grant you that they are good. They eluded me for a while. But like the others, eventually they let down their watch.”

He assisted Viv over the threshold, but at once turned back. “You will find it fruitless to summon any new men to guard you here today. At a time of my choosing, my men will disperse, but you will not know how many I still have surrounding the house and preventing you or any of your staff from leaving to sound an alarm.”

One of Tate’s men took her arm and led her up into an unmarked carriage at the curb. Tate quickly followed and sat down beside her.

A man slammed the carriage door.

At once, Viv was in Tate’s embrace.

The horses raced away through the streets of Paris. She did not ask where they went. She had no mind to process the revelations of Vaillancourt.

Two armed men on horseback followed. The four who had been in Vaillancourt’s foyer waited until the carriage left. Viv watched out a window and saw them disperse like fog as the carriage rounded the corner.

Tate gave her a once-over, then, with a hand to her cheek, he kissed her lips. “That is done. I see you thinking on what happened between you and him. Whatever it is, I do not wish to know now, or even later. It will be as you wish. But we are safe, we are guarded, and we must be away and out of the city.”

She nodded, grateful for his unerring good sense. She could not fathom all she had heard from Vaillancourt.

Tate settled her cloak about her shoulders and smiled with consolation. “You have your reticule and cloak. Might you have on your person your passport papers?”

“I do. In my shift.”

“Keep them there.” He checked that his men surrounded the carriage, then turned back to her. “We go to Meaux. East out of Paris along the Marne. The roads west to Rouen and the Atlantic coast are flooded with refugees.”

At sight of his frown, Viv thought of another route. “Why can we not go north? Through Picardy to Ostend and then sail home?”

“There are too many forts along that northern border. Those roads, too, are filled with those escaping.” He shook his head. “An order has gone out to arrest all British remaining in France.”

Viv stared at him. “I saw a man in the street near Vaillancourt’s. He was attacked by gendarmes.”

“It becomes ugly.”

She clutched his hand. “You have your own papers?”

He gave her a slow, triumphant smile. “I have my British passport sewn into my coat. French papers for all to see in my valise.”

“You pass as French today?” She knew his language skills were so good they made him sound like a native.

“You and I are Monsieur and Madame Alain DeLaCourt.”

She had to smile. “Handsome creatures.”

“Very. Now come here.” He gathered her closer and pushed hair from her cheek. “Do you have your pistol?”

“The one Fortin bought for me? I do.” She thought a moment. “And you?”

“I do. May it please God we have no use for them.”

She settled into the security of his embrace and let his silent presence soothe her.

*

They sped along the Seine to a stable where they alighted from Tate’s hired fiacre to change for another. But the stable master had no available carriage to rent to them. “I’ve a phaeton,” he told Tate. “Old but sturdy. How long will you be out?”

Tate frowned. “I need to go to Meaux,” he said in his best French. “My father is dying.”

The fellow shrugged. “Ah, well, monsieur, you need to go to the auberge down the lane and buy passage in the next coach to that town.”

“I cannot wait for a coach’s departure.”

“It will depart soon. In an hour. You will be in Meaux by dusk.”

“Good. The name of the auberge?”

“The Fifth Cheese.”

“I see. After the local delicacy?”

The man swept out a hand. “But of course.”

*

They made it to Meaux on the River Marne just as the sun set, about half past nine o’clock. Exhausted from the tension of their escape and from her confrontation with Vaillancourt, Viv welcomed the warmth of the cozy little quarters above the main gathering room. More than that, when Tate helped her out of her clothes and she his, she fell into the security of his embrace and the blessed silence of the night.

When she awakened the next morning, she opened her eyes to see him greeting her. Last night, they’d had no energy for more than comforting kisses. “We leave soon. I have bought two horses from the auberge. It is the only way we can go quickly. We must ride horseback.”

“I will go with you in any way, at any time.” She reached up to kiss him lavishly. “Anywhere.”

*

Their journey the second day took them further east to the next largest town along the Marne. Chateau-Thierry was a small town nestled along the banks of the river among stunning mountains.

Both of their horses had given their all, and soon would have been unable to go on. But the town appeared. Tate and she were relieved. He inquired about the location of the auberge the proprietor of the Meaux lodge had recommended. On a side street, they found it easily. That owner welcomed them in with wine, steaming bowls of pot-au-feu for dinner, and a straw-filled bed that was clean and wide.

Viv awoke the next morning to shouts in the streets. She sat up just as Tate was opening their door.

“Get dressed. We must leave.”

“What is happening out there?”

“The French army escorts British citizens to prison. A long line of them.”

She scrambled from their bed. There was not a moment to lose.

*

The proprietor of the auberge in Chateau-Thierry had a cousin who owned a farm along the road south. “There, monsieur,” advised the man, “you may be able to buy one of his old pony carts.”

As they headed down the farm road, Tate told her that they should not stay on the major thoroughfare east toward Verdun and the eastern border. “If the army herds British prisoners along that road, it is a dangerous one for us to travel. We will go southeast and head for Strasbourg.”

“I was there once when I was nine or ten. A lovely old city along the Rhine.”

Tate nodded, his features cramped with worry. “I have been there often. Recently, in fact. We will take a boat from a small dock north and call upon a friend of mine who, when last I saw him, lived in Karlsruhe.”

Reaching Strasbourg was a trek through rolling, verdant farmland. Because they could not travel with the benefit of major rivers, their journey by horse or by carriage grew hot and tedious.

Viv worried over the cost. She had perhaps a hundred francs in coin in her reticule. “I hope we have enough money to pay for this.”

“I have good coin, thanks to my friends. Never fear.”

She had another worry. “The Rhine is shared by French and Germans. And if we are on it and Vaillancourt sends out men to arrest us, the French could sail the river to capture us,” she said with trepidation.

“The Margrave of Baden would not countenance an invasion of his sovereignty by French troops. He and Bonaparte are friends, sad to say. But the German would object to such infringement of his boundaries. We will be safe. And my friend in Karlsruhe will help us find passage on a ship to sail north and home.”

*

Four nights later, they disembarked from a dock in the territory of the margravate of Baden. The trip to the capital was short, only a few miles to the center of the city.

Tate, who spoke excellent German, gave the coachman instructions. Viv, who understood only a smattering of the language, listened to Tate tell him to take them to Frederickstrasse, number ten.

“This friend of yours,” she asked, more tired than she wished to show Tate, “he will welcome us?”

“Most definitely. Dirk—Lord Fournier—and I attended Heidelberg University farther north when were young. We learned how to fence and how to analyze soil. He will treat us like family.”

“Fencing being the most useful of those lessons?”

He chuckled. “But of course.”

The mansion of white stone and dark brown timber stood like an old gothic castle on the street. Beside other houses less royal, the four-story stood like a grand dame of the city.

A pull on the old iron lion’s-head knocker had a snowy-haired fellow opening the door to them. He wore green-and-white livery as if he were born to it, took one look at Tate, and invited him inside. In effusive German, he welcomed Tate with the joy of an old friend.

He led them into the foyer. Stars twinkled in the heavens above through the glass-domed ceiling. The butler continued in effusive greeting, going to a corner of the atrium and pulling a bell to summon more servants. A maid and two burly footmen appeared in a trice, and off the two footmen disappeared out the front door. Viv assumed they were to collect luggage—of course, there was none.

Tate took her arm and explained, “The butler is William Bartel, who assures me we are to be shown to a sitting room and bedrooms immediately. He apologizes that Lord Fournier is presently detained. He has an unexpected visitor and will receive us as soon as he—”

“ Prinzessin! ” From a floor above, a man bellowed like a wounded buck. “ Halt! ”

A young woman stomped down the stone stairs as if she had bricks strapped to her shoes. She held up her head in defiance, her silken skirts swishing in fury as she descended. Her disheveled golden hair hung from a once-elaborate coiffure, and her pinched face spoke of danger and frustration.

“ Prinzessin! ” The man who chased her appeared at the landing. A tall fellow, he held a towel around his lean hips. His effort to conceal his accoutrements was fraught with the challenge of running after her. In his fury, he lapsed into English. “Damn it! Wait. We must talk!”

To which the lady whirled toward him and proclaimed, “We have, sir.”

“No!” He took the last few stairs to stand before her, a foot taller and glowering. “You yelled at me.”

She tsked at him as if he were a naughty child. “I will repeat softly, then, so you can hear.” She smiled ruefully and poked one fingertip to his bare ribs to punctuate her words. “You. Have. Failed. I will report that.”

“Report the truth, then!” He caught up to her again, towered over her, and stalked her backward to the open door. “We make progress.”

She did not blanch or yield, but tipped up her pert chin, and, as her foot went back and hit the threshold, she retorted, “You’ve had a year. Now you are done.”

After which, she nodded with apologetic violet eyes to Viv, Tate, and the startled, open-mouthed butler. Then she spun away into the night.

Their host—because that was the exasperated man Viv assumed stood before them—held one hand to his sagging towel, one to his hip. With a light flashing in his hazel eyes, he pushed back a lock of his white-blond hair and growled like a frustrated beast.

But when he turned, he gave Tate the biggest, most welcoming smile. With one arm out, he took his friend into his embrace.

“I do not usually welcome guests in the nude,” he said to Viv. “Appleby, whatever in hell you are doing here, I welcome you and your lady. I leave you both to Bartel and will see you at breakfast. Forgive me.” He ran back up the circular staircase.

Within minutes, she and Tate climbed the same stairs to the third floor and their suite of rooms.

“Does Lord Fournier know that lady well?” Viv asked as they walked behind Bartel.

“I will have a discussion with him over breakfast about that. But I will answer your question and tell you that I know her.”

“You do?”

Bartel opened the sitting room door and bade them good evening.

“I do not know her personally,” Tate said when they were alone and eager for the inviting bed. “But I was shown her portrait—a sketch, really—a few weeks ago. She has been in Paris recently, assuming three different names.”

“A talented lady.” Viv was surprised that someone could manage that. “I could not even do one.”

Tate took her in his arms. “You, my darling, did very well with that one. This lady… I am not certain what her objective is.”

“Lord Fournier knows. She means to tarnish his name.”

“The footmen will bring up hot water for your bath. Enjoy that and think not of anyone’s challenges. Ours are about to end.”

“I want to believe that. But the coast is a long way off.”

“We are safe now. The French cannot touch us. Dirk will ensure our passage north. We will be home a week from now.”

*

Viv was grateful Fournier had given them separate bedrooms. It was proper, after all, but she turned to Tate to explain her need to be alone.

He bent near and squeezed her hand.

“Sleep well. We both need it.” Since Chateau-Thierry, they had slept in each other’s arms in rough bedding and cramped quarters, but never comfortably. Their accommodations had been crude. Even if their affections were those of tender care, they had not been intimate. Nor had she wanted that, because she was still too bruised by the truth of Diane’s death and Charmaine’s complicity.

Viv felt oddly like a being living outside her own skin. The journey from Paris to Baden had been one in which she attempted to accept what she’d learned. That her oldest sister had betrayed Diane—them all, really—for her own gratification appalled Viv. The enormity of Charmaine’s crime filled her with an incredulity that robbed her of any ability to accept what had happened and how.

“Go.” Tate hugged her and left her at her door. “Tomorrow we leave.”

She went to her room and waited for the maids to fill the tub in the boudoir. She anxiously awaited it, pacing the floor.

Minutes later, she dismissed the maids. Then, submerged to the roots of her hair, she allowed the water to wash away her regrets. Her regret she hadn’t recognized what Charmaine had planned or manipulated. Her regret that she had not stopped Diane’s abduction. Her regret that she had no idea of the depths to which Charmaine could go to aggrandize herself.

Then, at once, she went still, the waters swirling around her.

She sat straight up. The bathwater sloshed over the sides.

She had always known Charmaine was interested only in herself. But her sister was cunning. Had been her whole life. No wonder Vaillancourt had seen it.

“But I didn’t.” Neither did Mama. Nor, it would seem, Diane.

So then. For myself, I accept I was unaware or too na?ve to notice Charmaine’s actions. I can regret for the rest of my life that I did not recognize what she did, and I did not call her out. But the responsibility for what happened to Diane is solely Charmaine’s.

She rose from the tub and grabbed two towels the maids had left for her to dry off. They had taken her clothes away to wash, but left a clean shift for her on her bed. Her damp hair hanging over her shoulders, she stood gazing at the mirror and knew what she had to do.

In her bare feet, she padded to the sitting room and entered Tate’s bedroom. In the adjacent boudoir she heard him bathing in his own tub. When she heard splashes, she assumed he was climbing out. Anxiety gnawed at her, and she could not wait for him to appear.

She walked in just as he was emerging from the water. All slick skin over rippling muscles, he used a towel to dry his torso. But at the sight of her, he paused.

“I have not been able to discuss what I learned with Vaillancourt,” she managed. “Forgive me. Amid those revelations, I am lost.”

He dropped the towel to the tile floor and came toward her, naked and beautiful and forgiving. Then he wrapped her against his might and, with kisses to her wet hair, held her tightly. “You look for ways to accept what happened. I have seen your search. I applaud it. But you must not apologize to me for any lapse. There is none. You are here with me, and we go onward to home and a future together.”

She reached up on her toes to kiss him. In his fervent response, she knew his acceptance of her every word. “I want that new life, untarnished by the past. I want to find…” She shook her head.

He brushed tendrils of her wet hair from her cheeks. Then he swooped her up into his arms and took her to his bed.

There he slid her garment over her wet hair and lay down beside her. Curling her close, he kissed her lips then smiled at her.

“In happiness and sadness, through life’s turmoil and joy, you and I will be together. True to each other.”

“And in love,” she said. But she could not yet declare that she was worthy to have such grace.

“Stay here with me tonight,” he said, and tucked her against his warm body. “I need you beside me as much as you need me.”

*

The next morning, they boarded a boat owned by Lord Fournier’s cousins. They were princes of the Rhine and owned small territories all along the river north. She and Tate traveled in comfort, cozy in warm cabins with good food and no threat of any arrests by French gendarmes.

They arrived in a small fishing village near Antwerp six days later. The next morning they were ferried out to a waiting ship, a Dutch merchantman accepting passengers sailing for Dover. Blown off course by a wild storm in the channel, the vessel pulled into docks south of Ipswich four days later. Tate hired a private carriage and took them twenty miles north to Cantrell Manor and the land Viv had cherished for more than a decade as her most peaceful home.