Aside from finding a rose in blustery March weather?“Anything.”
“You will take another prisoner with you.”
Another? How? That complicates the escape.But Inès was beholden.“Of course.”
“A young lady of whom I am very fond. Once a ward of mine and Josephine, also a friend of Caroline Bonaparte and of Hortense, Josephine’s daughter…”
Inès opened her mouth, but found no words. “How do they know each other?”
“All attended school together. This young woman is a wild American. Despite her very good connections, she had the audacity to steal an item from Vaillancourt—and shamed him.”
Inès swallowed her shock. “Her name?”
“At the abattoir.” The countess adjusted the buttons on her pelisse. “You will take her, nurse her to good health, then let her go wherever she wishes, oui? Your journey will have to be fast and your route a shrewd plan. Vaillancourt, true to his devilry, wanted to punish her and put her in his bed, and when she laughed…”
Inès knew the consequences of that for a woman in his sights. “He cast her to the jailors to do with as they will.”
“I am beside myself with grief.”
That was not a surprise.
“Her father was the former secretary to Thomas Jefferson, that man who is now president of the United States.”
Inès felt her knees go weak and her determination double. “He has died?”
“Two years ago. Some said he would one day have become president himself. But he was a ruthless man, a merchant and owner of slaves. My girl is nothing like him.”
“I will take excellent care of her, madame.”
Countess Nugent smiled with true love in her gaze. “I know you will. Adieu, ma chérie.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
At half-two in the morning two nights later, Inès sat on a rough bench in a bateau tied to a small dock beneath the old palace wall of the Conciergerie.
Evan had refused to take her inside. “Too dangerous.”
Rafe had agreed. “You are better here, Inès. Evan and I will run quickly.”
The boatman knew only that he was being paid well, to follow their orders and afterward to guide them silently away from the ancient building that housed one of the famous jails of Paris. Few had ever escaped from it. Most, like Marie Antoinette, had been led from it to their deaths.
Inès drew up the collar of her French woolen coat. It was not as heavy as the solid Scottish weave of the one she had worn to cross the Channel, the one they had burned along with their other English clothing back near Le Havre to ensure they appeared to be merchants from Toulon. She felt a cough coming on and sought to cover her mouth. She could not become ill now, when she had such work to do. But the truth was that she had been chilled the past few nights. Curling against her husband’s long, hot torso had warmed her, but not saved her. She buried her face in one of the blankets they had brought along for their guests and allowed herself to sneeze.
Their boatman cursed beneath his breath.
She eyed him with a silent apology.
Then the clatter above her told her she and the boatman were about to have company.
#
Evan ran with Rafe behind him along the long hall of the underground prison. He could not believe the disgusting conditions of the cells of the infamous Conciergerie. When they had made their way past the sleeping director, they had walked on cat’s feet. Evan had pulled up the kerchief around his neck and covered his nose and mouth, but it was far from useful. His gorge rose, but he fought it.
The other problem was that the informant whom they’d met earlier at the base of the Pont Neuf was a simpleton. Money was the only thing he understood. Evan had paid him double what he had intended for the help. He and Rafe had little trust in him, but they had no alternative but to follow his instructions. The man whom Cecily had arranged for them to meet yesterday was no better. He was a burly, hard-drinking fellow from the docks near Passy. He made his living, so said Cecily, with a group of men who had done her a few favors over the years. If Evan had his right mind, he’d say that “Armand” had done too many favors for others and drunk the money away. Evan prayed the fellow had wits enough to give them the right information about the routine of the prison director and his wardens. He and Rafe had to get through the night with Luc Bechard and the female prisoner the countess required they bring with them.
“Zephora Burton is a spirited young woman.” Those had been the words of the lovely lady who had acted as mother to Gus and Amber. She had met them hours ago in Montmartre and demanded of Inès that they remove this friend of hers from the old prison. It was the countess’s price for aiding them with information. Luc, she had told Inès, was transferred byVaillancourt from La Force to the Conciergerie. She knew not why. But she knew of this young girl, “only twenty-two and fresh as a red rose.”
Afterward, Rafe had scoffed to Evan in private. “That means that in the best of times, our ‘Zephyr’ is not a gentle breeze but a tornado. God help us.”
