Chapter Twenty-Three

T he first afternoon Amber had not appeared at St. Pierre had Ram waiting for two hours, then walking the rough, tangled terrain of the old cemetery. He passed elaborate crosses and majestic sculptures of those gone, those loved, those mourned. A few stones bore faded inscriptions, others whose names were obscured with flowers brought by grieving friends or relatives. Always he kept Amber and his bench in view.

Her absence that first day, he argued with himself, was nothing to alarm him. She had not been able to excuse herself from Vaillancourt. Or the deputy had required her at some surprise social chance meeting by an official. Kane kept Ram informed of any little thing he learned about the deputy. The latest news was that he had a new mistress who lived in his house.

Ram could do naught but accept what he could not change. He went home, poured himself a stiff brandy, and decided to attend a dinner party to which he'd been invited.

Later that night, he learned that the Americans had arrived to sign the treaty for the sale of land to the French. The territory along the Gulf of Mexico west to Spanish territory was to belong to the new United States government for the price of fifteen million American dollars. That money, beamed the gossips, would pay for Napoleon's ambitions. Ram knew those desires included funding French armies and building up supplies along the northern and eastern borders.

One week later, Amber again did not appear on their appointed day at the cemetery. Ram remained in place for only an hour past their usual time. Hiring a shabby public fiacre, he ordered the coachman twice around Vaillancourt's avenue. Ram got out to walk far down the street, but in the next four hours, he did not see Amber go or come.

Beside himself, he walked to a nearby florist's shop, bought an armful of roses, and hired the boy who worked there to knock on Vaillancourt's kitchen door and ask if the lady of the house would like any. He wished to sell them, the boy explained, or his master would be furious, he told the maid. But the boy returned to Ram, his arms full of the roses Ram had bought, and word that the lady of the house was indisposed.

For the next few days, Society in Paris convulsed with the schism of Bonaparte and the British ambassador. Kane and Gus left the city for London and home. Ram attended a few social gatherings only to get gossip.

Bonaparte was getting ready to officially end the peace with Britain, and those who had any sense in their heads were packing their trunks to head for the coast. The streets crawled with those frantic to leave Paris. Carriages stood before countless front doors. Horses whinnied and cried, wearied with the wait. Stray dogs wandered among the chaos, begging for scraps, searching for anything that looked like a treasure.

In the melee, servants lifted trunks into the rear hatches of coaches. Carts filled with odd goods, pots and pans, furniture, and cages with cats and dogs. All clogged the streets. Fearful women dabbed at their cheeks. Men shouted at their coachmen like lunatics. French creditors banged on doors, waving long sheets of invoices for goods and services rendered.

This morning at dawn, wild from a sleepless night, needing to escape the house and think how best to get Amber out of Vaillancourt's house, Ram had his horse saddled and went for a long ride along the Champs-élysées and back.

When she did not appear again that afternoon in the cemetery, it was the third time. Ram considered everything, from barging into Vaillancourt's house demanding to see Amber to bribing the man's servants to let him in.

After a long breakfast and two stiff whiskies, he was determined that bribery of Vaillancourt's majordom was his answer. First, he had to call upon a few people to help him in his next quest.

Then he would go appeal to Amber one last time.

*

Amber struggled up on an elbow and bent to the side of her bed. She shrank back at the foul odor of her own vomit in the pot on the floor. She had been ill all night. Often. Too often.

Get up. Get to the bellpull.

She pushed up and the room spun. In a whirl, she clamped shut her eyes and felt for her pillows. The urge to vomit hit her again.

Why did she do this? Why? The footman. He's the cause because he…

"Madame?" Marie called to her from so very far away. "Let me…"

Amber gazed at the pretty girl in the shadows of the morning. Whatever she said made no sense. "Marie…" She licked her lips. And her gorge rose again.

"Oh, Madame. Madame…" And on the girl chattered.

What's wrong with me?

Dizzy. Dry throat. Ugly vomiting.

"Marie, water. S'il vous pla?t. "

"Oui, madame. But you do not keep it down." The girl put a glass to Amber's lips, but she could not open her lips. The water dribbled down her chin. "You must try, madame. Try."

Someone banged on the door.

The girl cast her attention to the sound. "Enter!"

Who comes? Not him. Do not let it be him. "Please, I do not want—"

A man's voice shouted.

A woman's cry rent the air.

Is that mine? Am I dying?

"Amber, ma chérie !" Aunt Cecily loomed above her. She looked haggard, her black hair in a haphazard style. Her green eyes were small and dark. "Darling girl. What is wrong with you?"

I am dying, Aunt. He gave me poison and I am going to die. Tears dribbled down Amber's cheeks.

Her aunt wiped her tears away and gave her a watery smile. "Sweet Amber. I heard you are unwell. People speak of it in court. Last night at my dinner table. How long have you been like this, sweetheart?"

I don't know, Aunt. Hug me. Stroke my forehead like you used to when I was small and sick.

"How long, Marie?" her aunt demanded of the maid, her gaze never leaving Amber's.

"When she arrived a few weeks ago, madame, she looked pale. But she is now quite ill and gives up everything."

"When did she last eat?"

The maid said she was not aware.

"Poison, Aunt," Amber murmured, but Cecily did not look at her. The footman put something in my wine. In my tea. Vaillancourt is poisoning me.

Her aunt winced and looked at Marie. "Take this chamber pot away and bring us a new one. Bring me tea and biscuits."

Ugh. No biscuits.

"A clear soup, too. A fresh nightgown and hot water, toweling! At once." Aunt Cecily plumped the pillows and straightened Amber's covers. Then she cupped her cheek. "Not to worry, dearest. I will get a physician. We will get you better. Marie, summon Monsieur Vaillancourt to me at once."

"But madame, he has a guest."

Aunt Cecily shot up and glared at the poor maid. "Tell him to come here now or I will make myself known to him and his guest. I guarantee your master will not like what I have to say to him either in front of his visitor or alone. But he will hear from me now . Go."

*

Just after four, Ram had concluded his withdrawals from his account, sent his Parisian banker on his way, and deposited his gold coins in his wall safe, when his majordom appeared once more at his study door.

"Monsieur, you have two callers." His butler, a Frenchman of wide experience and great discretion, looked flustered.

"Two?" Ram expected only one man, Kane's former majordom . He had much more to do to prepare his departure, and all this was wasting time. "Who are they?"

"The one you expected. Monsieur Umberto Corsini. I showed him to the green salon."

"Excellent." Kane's former majordom was a young Italian of many talents and numerous contacts in Paris. Kane had pensioned off his butler, but before he left for London, he had told Ram that Corsini remained available to all their colleagues in Paris. "Good. And the other person?"

"Madame le Comtesse Nugent calls."

Cecily?

Ram ran two hands through his ruffled hair and reached for his frock coat.

"I have taken her to the yellow salon, monsieur. I ordered tea."

"Make that brandy." For Cecily to come here to him, she either had news about Amber—or the lady was here to condemn him to hell.

Either merited a good, stiff drink.