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“And what was Seurat’s profit?”
“The usual for a paid servant.”
“No doubt Seurat was not entirely satisfied with his share?”
Mirabeau shuddered at the memory. “To be honest, the man was as mad as the locals had warned us. He tried to stab your father before we at last were forced to drive him from the camp.” Another shudder racked the thin body. “Before he left he swore that he would see us all destroyed.”
If Seurat was mad then it was the most dangerous sort of madness, Philippe acknowledged. He was willing to wait and plot for years before striking.
“You said that you have seen him in Paris?” he demanded abruptly.
Mirabeau gave a short nod. “Oui.”
“Do you know where he resides?”
“He moves and lives among the peasants.” Mirabeau made a disgusted sound. “I have hired countless men to try to track him with no luck.”
Philippe did not allow the words to disturb him. Mirabeau could hardly be expected to have experience in trailing a determined scoundrel. Philippe, on the other hand, possessed years of practice.
“Does he have any family?”
Mirabeau lifted a hand to run it wearily over his thinning hair. “I…do not know.”
Philippe reluctantly accepted that the elderly gentleman was looking distinctly wilted. Clearly, his days of trotting about the world in the wake of Louis Gautier had taken their toll on the poor old sod.
“Is there anything else you can tell me of the man?” he asked as he motioned toward the silent Carlos.
Mirabeau rose to his feet and heaved a deep sigh. “Only that he will not be satisfied until we are all ruined.”
“Thank you, monsieur.” Philippe shook the man’s hand before stepping back. “Carlos will see that you are returned to your home.”
“You will halt Seurat?” Mirabeau demanded, genuine fear laced through his voice. “You will ensure that we are safe?”
“I will do whatever necessary to find Seurat and put an end to his vengeance,” Philippe swore softly.
A relieved smile touched the elder man’s lips. “Bless you, my son. Bless you.”
THE CARRIAGE WAS SHROUDED in silence as it wound its way through the frozen streets back to Montmartre.
Philippe was no doubt scheming the best means of tracking down his prey, Raine acknowledged. There was certainly a grim set to his countenance that warned his thoughts were not pleasant.
She, on the other hand, was pondering Monsieur Mirabeau’s unexpected revelations.
Dear heavens. She had already suspected from Philippe’s rare comments that Louis Gautier was a selfish and self-absorbed gentleman. Certainly he had readily handed the responsibility of his family over to his son while he indulged his obsession with his various collections. He did not even seem concerned for Jean-Pierre despite his dire predicament.
Still, it was shocking to realize how he had treated poor Seurat. Perhaps the servant had been wrong to seek out his own treasure while in the employ of Monsieur Gautier, but that surely did not give anyone the right to simply take it from him?
If nothing else he should have received the largest share of the bounty.
It was little wonder he had gone a bit mad.
The silence remained intact until the carriage slowed to traverse the steep, narrow streets of Montmartre. Shifting on the leather seat, Philippe turned to regard her with a searching gaze.
“You are very quiet, querida. What is going through that mind of yours?”
Raine hesitated for a long moment. She had come to know Philippe well enough to realize that he was far too fond of considering his word as law. There were very few who were brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to dare imply he might be mistaken in any manner.
She was not, however, a woman who kept her opinions to herself. Not even when it obviously would be the wisest choice.
