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Wiping his face on his sleeve, Dewhurst moved back. “I overstepped. Forgive me. But my point stands. We can’t coddle him.”
Ffoulkes eyed Tristan, who gave him a steely nod. Clearly, Alexandra could handle herself. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t punch Dewhurst the next time he had the opportunity. Montagne wasn’t looking so bad.
“We could send for Lady—” He broke off, clearly not wanting to say more about the identity of the mysterious Gabrielle. “We could send for our friend, but three weeks is optimistic. It could be three months before she can slip into Paris, and that’s if the situation here doesn’t worsen. Do we have that kind of time? Chevalier, you saw the king?”
“He’s not the king. He’s Citoyen Capet.” Before he knew what had happened, Montagne had him by the throat.
“He is the king, and while you’re here you’ll give him the respect he deserves.”
So he’d been right to hate Montagne from the beginning.
“Laurent,” Miss Blake said. “Release him, please.”
But Tristan didn’t need her help. He grasped Montagne’s hand and pried it off his throat. “He’s no better than you or me, and I won’t treat him or you any differently.”
Montagne stared at him and Tristan stared back.
“Boys,” Alexandra said. “We’re wasting time. Let’s all sit down and return to the task at hand or we’ll be arguing politics in the tumbrels.”
Tristan returned to his chair as did Montagne, but he didn’t sit quite so negligently now.
“As I was saying.” Ffoulkes straightened his sleeves. “Chevalier, you saw Louis Charles?”
“Yes.”
“What was his condition?”
Tristan blew out a breath.
“It must have been poor for you to be here,” Alex prompted him. “Tell us.”
“As I said, he’s kept alone. I don’t think he’s allowed out of his cell or that anyone is let in. So Simon may have the key to the—ah, padlock, but I think it’s rarely used. It must have been this way for some time. The child’s feces had piled in a corner and the stench was considerable. There is a slot in the door to pass a tray of food through—”
Montagne jumped up. “What kind of monsters would do this to a child? I’ll fucking kill them all.”
For the first time, Tristan actually felt some fear. The expression of Montagne’s face was that of a man who would do exactly as he’d said.
“Monsieur, your outbursts won’t help the child,” Ffoulkes said calmly. “If you can’t bear it, then you’d better leave.”
It was a cold response, but it seemed to have worked. Montagne sat again and Miss Blake poured him more wine, then slipped her hand into his.
“Go on, citizen,” Ffoulkes said.
“Food is passed through the door. When I was there it was night and the boy was sleeping. I asked Simon to rouse him, and he did so.”
“What did he look like?” Montagne asked, his voice ragged.
“It was...him. I’d seen him before the revolution, and it was the same child, but he was thin and dirty. The room was cold, and he shivered and walked rather unsteadily.”
Montagne rose abruptly and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Ffoulkes held up a hand, stalling Miss Blake who rose to go after him. “We need you here, and he could probably use some time to compose himself.”
She nodded, then addressed herself to Tristan. “He knew the royal children and loves them like siblings. He’d do anything for them.”
Tristan nodded. He knew what it was like to watch a beloved sibling suffer. He knew the pain and agony of being helpless to stop it.
“Perhaps we might buy time if Robespierre was made aware of the child’s condition. If it could be improved—”
“No,” Alex interrupted Ffoulkes. “Robespierre knows. I heard Chevalier tell him last night.” She exchanged a look with Tristan. He’d supposed she’d heard, but this confirmed it. She had been even closer to being discovered than he’d wanted to accept. “Robespierre doesn’t care. He won’t kill the king, but if the child dies that is one more problem he won’t have to deal with.”
