Monsale would not only ensure that any rumors regarding the sudden disappearance of Augustus Trajan Jones were swiftly dealt with, but he would also handle the delicate matter of informing the Jones family that their son would not be coming home.
Gus took one look at his boat, then clambered over the side. The echoes of more explosions rung in his ears as he headed up the hill.
Evangeline, where are you?
Gus was still wiping the dust and sweat from his face when he finally made it up the short rise and into the forecourt of Château-de-La-Roche. Or at least what remained of it.
The roof was mostly gone, and the west wing in which he assumed the gunpowder had been stored was a shattered ruin. Only the rock-solid walls held out.
The fire had now moved to the other side of the château. Gus could only hope that Armand had not stored more powder in that part of the house.
At the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door, he found Armand. He was badly burned. What skin remained on his hands was blackened.
“My friend, you have returned. But too late. There is nothing you can do for me,” he said.
“No. Please. You can’t die,” pleaded Gus.
A sickening crack and almighty crash echoed from inside the château as another part of the roof caved in. No one would be going back in the front door.
Gus bent and slipping his hands under Armand’s back, lifted him to a seated position. The Frenchman cried out in pain.
“There is nowhere in the main building which is safe for us. Let me take you into Saint-Brieuc and find a physician,” said Gus.
Armand grabbed hold of Gus’s greatcoat. “Evangeline. Where is my niece? They dragged her out of the house and toward the stables. You have to save her. Marec will force Evangeline to become his whore, and if she resists, he will kill her.”
The Lamballe gang has Evangeline.
The choice before him was heartbreaking. Leave Armand to die alone or find a horse and go after Vincent and his men. “I will find Evangeline. And I will get revenge for you. I swear that this outrage will not go unpunished.”
Armand touched his badly scarred fingers to the back of Gus’s hand. “I blew up the château. I would rather destroy it than hand it to a man like Vincent Marec.”
No sooner had he said the words, than his body stilled, and his eyes rolled back in his head. A sob escaped Gus’s lips. He bowed his head and wept.
Armand La Roche was dead.
Chapter Thirteen
The fire continued to rage on through the rest of the château. Gus ignored it. There was no point in attempting to fight the flames. It was all too late.
Still cradling Armand’s body in his arms, he considered his options. The Lamballe gang had disappeared and taken Evangeline. He had no idea where they had gone, but he suspected they were somewhere on the road headed to their camp.
But where?
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
His knowledge of the local area was limited at best. Sir Stephen Moore had always been the one who travelled to the surrounding towns and villages, tasked with collecting the contraband brandy.
“Monsieur Jones?”
Raising his head, Gus was greeted with the sight of one of the estate stable workers. The man held the reins of a brown gelding in his hands. The horse was saddled, with a blanket and bags in place.
Gus recognized the beast. He had ridden the horse a number of times during his earlier trips to the château.
Gently moving Armand off his lap, he lay his friend on the ground, then got to his feet. “Find some of the other servants and have Monsieur La Roche taken to Saint-Brieuc. The head priest at Cathédrale Saint-Étienne will know what to do.”
He nodded toward the horse. “Is that for me?”
“Yes. I thought you might want to go after Evangeline. I mean Mademoiselle La Roche. She has the faster horse, so I don’t know how long it will take for you to eventually catch up with her.”
