“Well?”
François climbed onto the driver’s seat beside Danton. “It would give Dupree a weapon to hold over our heads later. The more reasonable course would be to get the women safely out of Paris.”
Danton gave him a shrewd glance. “And we’re both reasonable men, are we not?” His lips twisted in an ironic smile. “Why else would we be here amid these ‘reasonable’ men who guard our nation?” He snapped the whip and the horses lurched forward. “Do what you will. But if you involve me in your downfall, I’ll deny you.”
“As Peter did Jesus?”
“Exactly.”
François slowly shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t deny me.”
“You think not?”
“You might curse me, you might even lay open my head with a bludgeon, but you wouldn’t deny me.” He shot Danton a sidewise glance and smiled faintly. “Why do you think I chose to come to you when I arrived in Paris two years ago? Everyone knows of your loyalty, Georges Jacques.”
Danton grimaced. “Life is not always so simple. Loyalty can waver in trying times.”
François didn’t reply.
“You stubborn idiot, listen to me. I’m like any other man. I became frightened and weary and greedy. And who should know better than you how corrupt I can be? Don’t trust me. Don’t trust anyone.”
François only smiled.
Danton sighed. “Very well. How do you intend we should get them out of Paris?”
François shrugged. “Something will occur to me.”
“Well, don’t wait to construct your usual convoluted plan. Whoever said Basques were simple folk? You never take the straight path if you find one that’s twisted.”
“The twisted path is far less boring and safer in the long run.”
Danton shook his head and snapped the whip to urge on the horses.
“We’ve found no trace of Citizeness Justice,” Pirard said to Dupree. “I’ve sent men to scour the outlying villages. But do not worry, we’ll find her.”
“I’m not worried. The bitch can’t have gone far on foot.” The fine chain of the golden necklace in Pirard’s hands was broken and flecked with blood. Dupree took the necklace and balanced the circlet hanging from the chain in his palm. “You found this in the tomb with Malpan?”
The Marseilles nodded. “Beneath his body.”
“Anything else?”
“A painting of the abbey,” Pirard chuckled. “Crazy thing to be in a nun’s tomb. But then, a woman has to be a little crazy in the head to become a nun, isn’t that true, Citizen?”
“Yes.” Dupree’s tone was absent as he held up the necklace to catch the first tentative light of dawn. It was an exquisitely delicate piece of jewelry, fit for the throat of a princess, he thought. In fact, the woman who had worn it, if not a princess, had probably been the daughter of a count or marquis or perhaps even a duke.
“Shall I throw the painting in the wagon with the rest of the loot for the Commune?”
“What? Oh, yes, go ahead.”
“And the necklace?”
Dupree’s hand closed possessively on the fine golden chain. This necklace had probably belonged to a child of glory, a child of nobility, a child accustomed to the company of kings and queens. If he gave it up, it would only be melted down or stolen to grace the fat neck of some shopkeeper’s wife. Such a necklace deserved a better fate. “Forget you found the necklace. I’ll dispose of it.”
Pirard grinned slyly. “And we’ll see it hanging on the bosom of that little actress you find so accommodating?”
Dupree shot Pirard a contemptuous glance. Didn’t he realize a prize like this must be given to someone worthy of its glory? Camille Cadeaux occupied a necessary place in his life but that place was dark and secret and had nothing to do with glory. Pirard was not only a fool but was becoming insultingly intimate since he’d been chosen as Dupree’s lieutenant. He would have to do something about the man.
“No, I have no intention of giving it to Camille.” He would have the chain repaired and cleaned, then have the gold polished until it was as bright and shining as when it might have been worn at Versailles. “I shall give it to the only woman in France who is blameless enough to wear it with honor.”
“And who is that?”
Dupree took his lace-trimmed handkerchief from his pocket and carefully began to rub at a dried spot of blood on the spray of lilac engraved on the gold surface. “My mother.”
Catherine was screaming.
Juliette was out of her bed and halfway across her chamber before she was fully awake. What could it be now? Catherine had been sleeping soundly when she had peeked in on her before going to her own chamber.
Robert Dameraux stood outside Catherine’s door that Juliette had left ajar. He wrung his hands. “Mademoiselle Catherine, she’s not—”
“She has the fever,” Juliette said as she brushed past him. “I’ll take care of her. Go back to bed.”
“Bed?” he asked in a high, surprised tone. “I was not in bed. My Marie and I were sitting down to our supper when we heard Mademoiselle Catherine screaming.”
Supper? Then the half darkness mantling the hall was not dawn but twilight. They had slept the entire day through.
Catherine screamed again.
“I don’t need you.” Juliette threw open the door. “Bring soup and wine for Mademoiselle Catherine after you finish your meal.” She slammed the door behind her, then flinched as the sound bludgeoned her throbbing temples. Her tongue felt coated and sour. Dieu, she didn’t want to face this right now.
Catherine moaned, turned restlessly on her side but did not wake.
Juliette straightened and moved across the room toward the bed. “The windows are open. Do you want the entire neighborhood to know we’re here? Wake up.” She reached down, grasped Catherine’s shoulders, and shook her. Catherine’s lids flicked open to reveal wild, glittering eyes and Juliette’s irritation melted away as if it had never been. “You’re safe now. Well, as safe as we can be in this city of madmen.”
“Juliette?” Catherine whispered. “I dreamed …” She shuddered. “But it was real, wasn’t it?”
Juliette sat down on the bed beside her. “It was real.”
“They hurt me.” Catherine’s tone was wondering, childlike. “Like they hurt Henriette and Sister Mathilde.”
Juliette’s hand closed on Catherine’s. “Yes.”
“They tore my clothes and then they tore … me.”
“Yes.” Juliette’s grip tightened. “But you’re alive and I killed the canaille who did it.”
“Murder.” Catherine’s eyes glistened with tears. “It’s a mortal sin. I made you commit a mortal sin.”
“You made me do nothing. It was my choice.”
“No, I was to blame. You would have never—”
“I wanted to do it,” Juliette interrupted. “I enjoyed doing it. I wish I could have killed all of them.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” Juliette said fiercely. “I want them all dead. I want them all burning in hell. Do you think I should forgive them? Are you going to forgive that loathsome slug who raped you?”
“I … don’t want to think about him.” Catherine turned her gaze toward the window. “I don’t want to think of either of them.”
Juliette stiffened. Them. She had been so weary she hadn’t realized Catherine had been speaking in the plural. “Catherine, how many men … hurt you?”
Catherine’s voice was barely audible. “Two.”
Fury surged through Juliette, taking her breath, sending the blood pounding in her temples. “There was only one man in the tomb.”
“There was another before him. He left after …” Catherine’s voice broke. “But the other one stayed. He did it over and over until I—”
“Shh. Go to sleep.” Juliette enfolded her in a close embrace. “He can’t hurt you now.”
“Yes, he can. I dreamed about him. He was there above me. Hurting me. Looki
ng down at me with no face.” Catherine was trembling uncontrollably. “No face. He had no face.”
“He had a face. It was just too dark to see in the tomb.”
“They were shadows. They didn’t have faces. I thought if I could see their expressions I’d know why they were doing this to me. I thought I’d be able to make some sense out of it, but they had no faces.” She was panting as if she were running. “And then I realized I had no face either. I was nothing. I was something to use and throw away. It didn’t matter what they did to me because I was already so soiled that I couldn’t get dirtier, more fouled, or—”
“It’s not true,” Juliette said. “None of that is true. It wasn’t your fault.”
“What difference does that make? You know it’s a woman’s duty to keep herself pure for her husband. Do you think any man would take a woman to wife who had been so used?”
Juliette hesitated. She could not lie to Catherine and tell her it would make no difference. The world was neither fair nor gentle to women in most instances, and men were particularly unfair in matters of chastity. “No one need know. At Versailles there were tricks the women used to fool a bridegroom into believing he was getting a virgin. We could—”
“I couldn’t lie. I’m already stained enough without adding falsehoods to my sins. Besides, I could never marry.” Catherine’s eyes twitched beneath their lids like an animal in mortal terror. “He would hurt me. I couldn’t let him do that. I don’t want anyone to touch me ever again.”
Juliette swallowed to ease the tightness of her throat “No one’s going to hurt you. Rest now and try to sleep. Robert is going to bring soup and wine.”
“I’m not hungry. You won’t leave me?” Catherine whispered, her eyes closing. “I’m afraid I’ll dream …”
She was already half asleep, Juliette noticed. She supposed it was natural after Catherine’s hideous experience for her to wish to hide away, but she was embracing sleep with an eagerness that made Juliette uneasy.
Catherine opened suddenly anxious eyes. “Juliette, they didn’t hurt you? You got away without them—”
Blood.
The Reverend Mother kneeling before the tribunal.
The golden chalice of the holy sacrament.
Dupree’s delicate hand motioning to the man with the red bonnet.
Juliette firmly banished the memory and smiled down at Catherine. “Of course they didn’t hurt me. Do you think I’d be so easy to catch?”
Catherine relaxed. “No, I didn’t think so. You wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. You’re too strong.”
Blood.
Juliette’s hand tightened around Catherine’s. “You’re strong too, Catherine. You’ll get over this.”
“That’s what he said.” Catherine’s words were nearly inaudible.
“Who?”
“That man. François.”
Juliette hid a start of surprise. Etchelet had not impressed her as a man who would pass words of comfort. He would expect everyone to respond to adversity with the same toughness that seemed inherent in his own character. “Then he has more sense than I thought.”
“He was angry. I don’t know why …”
“Don’t worry about it.” Juliette released Catherine’s hand and stood up. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll sit in the chair across the room and—”
“It’s gone.” Catherine’s hand was fumbling at the high neck of her nightgown. “My locket. It’s gone!”
Juliette stiffened in sudden fear. Why hadn’t she noticed the previous night that the locket was no longer around Catherine’s neck? If Dupree found the locket next to the corpse in the tomb, he would have Catherine’s likeness in the palm of his hand! She mustn’t panic. The locket could have been lost anywhere and, even if found, the miniature might never be discovered. The catch of the locket was hard to find and the opening almost seamless.
“I love my locket. I wanted to wear it forever and now it’s gone.”
Catherine had obviously not made the dangerous connection of the loss and the body in the tomb and Juliette was certainly not going to bring it to her attention. “I’ll paint you another miniature.”
“It won’t be the same.” Catherine closed her eyes and turned her face away. “Nothing will ever be the same.”
Juliette sat down in the chair and leaned her head wearily against the high back. Catherine’s words were almost identical to the ones Juliette had uttered in the salon the previous night. She wished she could argue with her, but how, when Catherine only spoke the truth.
The flame of the candle burned above her bed, hanging like a shimmering topaz teardrop on the velvet of the darkness. She should really concentrate on learning to paint fire, Juliette thought drowsily. She had tried once or twice but the elements were terribly difficult to master. Fire kept changing from gold to emerald, to amber to ruby red. People were much easier once you got beyond their surface and …
“Are you well?”
A deep masculine voice, taut with tension, issued from somewhere beyond the flame.
Juliette’s gaze jerked from the flame to the face behind the candle. High intriguing planes, bold black eyes, and that beautifully cynical mouth.
Jean Marc!
He was here. Wild joy—as instinctive as it was bewildering—soared through her. After all the years of waiting, he was here.
“Answer me!”
She sat bolt upright in bed, jarred wide awake and into anger by the sharpness of his tone. “Why did you not come for her? She’s your responsibility and it wasn’t right of you to—”
“Hush.” Jean Marc’s fingers were shaking as they pressed her lips. “For God’s sake, don’t rail at me. I’ve just come from the abbey and I thought you both dead. I rushed here and—Philippe came in time then?”
“Philippe?”
“I sent Philippe to—” He broke off as he saw her bewildered expression. “My God, he didn’t come for you.”
“I told you, no one came for Catherine.” She gazed at him fiercely. “You let those canailles rape her. And if they had killed her too, it would have been your fault. For weeks the carriages came and took the students away, but none came for Catherine.”
Jean Marc was rigid with shock. “Raped?” His rich olive complexion looked suddenly muddy in the candlelight. “My God, that … child.”
“They raped old women and children.”
“What about you? Are you well?”
“How could I be well after seeing—”
“Merde! Juliette, did they hurt you?”
“Catherine was raped by two men and she’s—”
“You told me about Catherine. I asked about you.” He grabbed her shoulders and made her look into his eyes. “Tell me, were you raped?”
“No.”
His breath escaped in an explosive rush and his grip on her shoulders loosened. “One blessing. I have enough guilt to bear without adding your assault to it.”
“More than enough guilt. Why didn’t you come?”
“I had urgent business in Toulon. When the Reverend Mother’s message reached me, I stopped at Vasaro and sent Philippe to fetch you and Catherine from the abbey. He should have been here days ago.”
“Perhaps he had ‘business’ too and didn’t think Catherine’s welfare important enough to waste his time.”
“I don’t know why he isn’t here.” Jean Marc’s lips tightened grimly. “But I intend to find out.”
“It’s too late. Two days too late.” Juliette could feel her eyes filling with tears and determinedly blinked them back. “They hurt her, Jean Marc.”
“I know they did.” Jean Marc looked intently at her. “There’s no use saying I’ll regret what’s happened for the rest of my life. All I can do is try to heal the harm that’s been done. You’re sure nothing happened to you?”
“Nothing important.” She frowned. “Oh, I forgot. I had to kill a man.”
The faintest smile broke the somberness of Jean Marc’s expression. “You do
n’t consider killing a man of importance?”
“He was a canaille. He was raping Catherine.”
Jean Marc’s smile vanished. “A canaille, indeed. I regret you deprived me of the pleasure.”
“There was another man. If you can find out who he is, you can kill him.”
He bowed. “Such generosity, Juliette. Now, tell me how you escaped being butchered at the abbey.”
She briefly related the events and roles of François Etchelet and Danton in their flight.
“François Etchelet,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I owe him a debt.”
“I assure you his rescue was most reluctant.”
“Reluctant or not, he saved you.”
“True.” She threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. “We must talk. Come down to the scullery and I’ll find you something to eat.”
“I’m going to be allowed to break my fast? I thought my laggardliness had put me beyond redemption in your eyes.”
Profound weariness and sadness lay beneath the mockery in Jean Marc’s voice and, for the first time, Juliette noticed the deep shadows beneath his eyes, the layer of dust mantling his elegant dark blue cloak. She suddenly felt a rush of protectiveness that banished both anger and resentment. “You care for Catherine. I know you would not hurt her deliberately. You were merely stupid, I suppose.”
A faint smile indented his lips. “I’d forgotten that sharp tongue of yours. I remembered only …” He fell silent for a moment, looking at her. “How kind of you to acquit me of malice, if not witlessness.”
“You should have come for her. What business could be so important that you—”
“The assembly’s confiscated eight of my ships for their navy in the past year,” Jean Marc interrupted. “I was hoping to salvage some of my cargoes stored in the warehouses at Toulon before those greedy bastards managed to steal those too.” He shook his head wearily. “It seemed very important at the time.”
“Eight ships? That’s a great many.”
“They would have taken the lot if I hadn’t seen this coming and sent most of the Andreas fleet to Charleston harbor two years ago.”
“You knew they would steal your ships?”