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Ten
Angelette stared atthe man smiling before them. He was handsome, his features aristocratic and his clothing far too fine to have been issued by the military. And he spoke in English.
“Well, don’t just stand there and gape at me all fish-faced,” he drawled. “Let’s go find someplace civilized.”
“You’re English?” Hugh said.
The man smiled. “And so are you, I see. Good. That makes everything much easier. I won’t have to bribe some French officials to give you papers.”
“Papers?” Angelette said.
“Yes, to leave France, my lady. I’m afraid it’s rather inhospitable to our kind at the moment. Shall we walk?” He gestured to the south.
“We are staying with friends this way,” Hugh said.
“Then by all means, lead the way.”
They walked for a few minutes and when they were back on a quiet and all-but-deserted street, the man stopped again. “Forgive me, I haven’t even introduced myself. Sir Percy Blakeney.” He bowed again.
“Hugh, Viscount Daventry, and this is the Comtesse d’Avignon.”
Blakeney took Angelette’s hand and kissed it. “I’m charmed. Shall we?” He indicated the boulevard, and they walked on. “If you don’t mind my asking, how is it you ran afoul of those wayward youths?”
“My friends, the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Merville, wanted to leave Paris this morning, but the coaches they ordered never came,” Angelette said. “Lord Daventry and I set out for the Palais-Royal to see if we could discover what had become of the vehicles, but we were intercepted.”
“I see. We shall have you back on your way soon enough.”
Angelette glanced at Hugh. This was all too strange and too impossible. “But we are in your debt, sir. How is it you came to be at the Bastille?”
“I heard all the shouting and firing this morning and thought I would pop in to see what the commotion was about.”
“Pop in?” Hugh drawled. “Dressed as a soldier?”
“One does like to blend in.”
“Of course,” Hugh said wryly. “And does one also like to rescue aristos in jeopardy?”
“I haven’t made a habit of it,” Sir Percy admitted, “but I suppose it’s as good a hobby as any other. There’s an actress here I’m rather fond of, but one does need something to occupy one’s time when she is not on stage.”
“Are you not worried you will be arrested?”
“Lud, no. These Frenchies have enough trouble without angering the British government.”
“The boys who took me into custody today didn’t seem concerned about the British government.”
Sir Percy shrugged. “I suppose you are correct, but I’ll have to take my chances. The actress, you know.” He sighed rather dramatically.
They walked on, listening to Sir Percy go on about his actress, a Marguerite St. Just, and bemoan the lack of tea and decent tobacco in Paris. Hugh agreed on the tea, while Angelette kept her own counsel. She was still trembling, her ears ringing from the boom of the cannons. She might have died today. A stray pistol ball, an angryvainqueur,a real militia leader who had decided it was more expedient to shoot her rather than take her into custody.
She should have been more eager than ever before to leave Paris, but she couldn’t help looking at the shuttered windows of the Rue Saint-Honoré and wondering who would be next. And who would save those men, women, and children?
They reached number thirty-three, and though Sir Percy would have left them, she begged him to stay and at least take some refreshment. Hugh assured him the de Mervilles had tea, and the matter was decided.
After a reunion with the distraught de Mervilles, who thought the worst—and rightfully so—when Hugh and Angelette had not returned, the small party sat down to take refreshment, while outside the boom of the cannons started again.
“That will be the two cannons thevainqueursbrought in,” Hugh said. “It won’t be long now.”
“What will the king do?” the vicomtesse asked.
