“The poison is not without pain.”
“No matter, as long as it’s quick. That was the most import—” Dupree broke off, collapsing against the counter, flinching with pain. “Mother of God!”
Barshal looked at him with no expression. “What’s wrong?”
“My leg,” he gasped. “I’ve been walking too long on it today. Laudanum. Prepare a potion…”
“It will cost you extra.”
Dupree’s face contorted. “I don’t care. The pain…”
Barshal shrugged and went into the preparation room in the back of the shop. He came back a few minutes later with a glass of milky fluid.
Dupree grabbed it quickly and drained the glass.“Merci, Citizen.” He lowered his head and took several long breaths. “It’s already helping.”
“Four francs.”
Dupree lifted his head. “You overcharge me.”
Barshal lifted one shoulder. “You said you’d pay.”
Dupree reluctantly handed over the francs. “I’lltake care not to fall ill in your shop again.” He turned and limped toward the door.“Bonjour, Citizen.”
Barshal grinned at his departing back before putting the money away in the cash box. Served the ugly bastard proper, he thought with satisfaction. The man’s face turned his stomach and put him off his food. He reached for his bread and cheese and took a sizable bite of each before reaching for the bottle of wine and finishing it with three swallows.
Dupree’s hand closed caressingly on the bottle Barshal had given him as he hurried down the street. It was a pity he’d had to dispose of the apothecary. An amoral man of his profession was very useful, but Barshal was known to others in the city beside himself. The comte must be made aware how sharp was his new tool and how ruthlessly it cut.
He hefted the tiny bottle, such a light, lethal weight. Yet, even with the drops of poison he had put in Barshal’s wine, he was sure he would still have more than enough for his purpose.
“You can’t see him today,” Madame Simon told Catherine when she came to the door of the cell three days later. “The boy just lies there in bed and stares.”
Catherine’s eyes widened in alarm. “Is he ill?”
“No.” Madame Simon’s lips tightened as she glared at her husband nursing a mug of wine by the fire. “It was that stupid husband of mine. He got drunk and told Charles about old Sanson choppin’ his mother.”
“He had to know sometime,” Simon said with a surly look. “Everyone else does.”
“You didn’t have to dance around singing and pretending you were holding the bitch’s head,” Madame Simon said crossly. “He wasn’t ready to hear it like that.”
White hot anger surged through Catherine, and she had to turn away so they wouldn’t see it in her expression. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“You won’t see me,” Simon said bitterly. “I’m leaving the Tower, They tricked me.”
Catherine’s gaze flew to Madame Simon. “What happened?”
She shrugged. “The Commune promised him a better position and he resigned as guardian for the boy.”
“But they didn’t give me the other position and now they won’t let me take back my resignation.” Simon drained his cup. “They’ll be sorry. No one was ever better to that boy than I was.”
“What are they going to do with Charles?”
“Do you think I’d give up four thousand a year just because my stupid husband leaves the Tower?” Madame Simon frowned. “I’m staying with the boy as long as they’ll let me, of course.”
So now, if they worked quickly, they would have only Madame Simon to contend with in freeing Louis Charles. François should know about this at once. Catherine turned away and started for the door.
“Catherine!”
She turned to see Louis Charles raised up on one elbow. “Don’t go, Catherine.”
