AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chevalier’s eyes narrowed as though he were taking all she said in and translating it quickly in his mind.
“Get to the point, Alex,” Ffoulkes said.
Alex glared at him. The man had no sense of dramatic timing. She was building anticipation, and he would ruin it all and have her blurt everything out.
“Fine,” she said. Ffoulkes had ruined the scene at any rate. “Youwillhelp us, and your first task is to prove your loyalty with a small favor.”
Chevalier snorted. “And in so doing I dig my grave deeper? Is that it?”
“Precisely. You see, my friend here”—she indicated Ffoulkes—“thinks we have you skewered and cooked and served on a platter.”
“You are to eat me?” For the first time Chevalier looked alarmed.
Perhaps having him at a disadvantage at this point in the discussion was not such a wise idea. “My friend,” she said in French, “thinks we have you right where we want you, but I don’t agree. I think you would sacrifice yourself before you would help the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
This time he gave nothing away. She would have preferred to see something in his face—something that would tell her she had been right and there was no hope or that she was wrong and he might turn after all. But she could not read him.
“We cannot allow any heroic sacrifices. You will prove yourself free of them and show us you know your place and your role. If not—” She waved the papers he’d given the Pimpernel menacingly.
His gaze slid from her to Ffoulkes and back again. “What would you have me do?”
“Save an innocent man from death,” Ffoulkes said, handing him a paper with a name written on it.
Chevalier took it awkwardly as his hands were still locked together. But he held it and managed to angle it toward the light to read the name. “An abbé?”
Ffoulkes folded his arms across his chest. “A man imprisoned for little more than his faith. Surely you cannot object to freeing such a man.”
Chevalier opened his mouth, probably to utter some rot about how he must be guilty of something if the Republic had imprisoned him, but apparently even he did not believe that any longer. He glanced at the paper again. “Must I make my decision now or will I have time to consider?”
“You have until an hour before curfew tomorrow night,” Ffoulkes said. “If you agree to help, meet Mademoiselle Martin at the Café Voclain near the Conciergerie.”
“And if I do not agree?”
“Then Robespierre will be in receipt of these papers as well as a detailed report on your meetings with Citoyen Allié the next morning.” Alex thumped the papers, then rose and handed them back to Montagne, who tucked them into a small box and made a show of turning the small key that locked it.
“In the meantime, if any attempt is made to arrest or keep watch on Mademoiselle Martin,” Montagne said in his cultured French, “the papers will also be summarily delivered. Do you understand?”
“Oui, monsieur.”Chevalier’s accent on the title made it clear Montagne’s accent had betrayed him as a nobleman. Clearly, Chevalier had nothing but contempt for the nobility. Alex had harbored a bad feeling before, but she’d hoped it would ebb once they’d begun making demands on Chevalier. Thus far, he’d done nothing but show himself exactly the man she supposed him to be—a revolutionary of unquestioning loyalty to the cause.
“So what now?” Chevalier asked. “Am I to be released?”
“Just so,” Ffoulkes said and drew a hood over Chevalier’s head. When Chevalier protested loudly, Ffoulkes tied a gag over the hood to stop the noise. Then he rang the bell and Dewhurst and Hastings came upstairs. They shuttled the still struggling Chevalier out of the attic and soon after Alex heard the door downstairs and she knew he was out of the house.
Ffoulkes removed his domino and Honoria Blake and Montagne followed with their masks.
“They won’t dump him in the Seine, will they?” Honoria asked.
“Of course not,mon ange,” Montagne said, rubbing her arm to comfort her. “They will merely dump him in some unfamiliar location and allow him to find his own way home.”
“That’s just as bad!”
“Nonsense. It is a cold night. A dunking in the Seine would kill him for certain. This way he has a fighting chance against the ruffians and the rest of the rabble.”
Alex sank into a chair at the table, her legs weak. “We might as well dress me in my disguise and make my papers. He will not help us.”
“Have some faith,” Ffoulkes said. “He did not seem overly eager to die from my vantage point. His loyalty is already torn. We need only weaken it further and he will be ours.”
Alex closed her eyes and rubbed them. They stung from fatigue. “If I survive to meet him at the Café Voclain tomorrow night, I will be surprised.”
