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Samuel peered about the gambling hell, at a loss as to why anyone would voluntarily spend time there. A miasma of tobacco smoke stung nostrils and eyes. The raucous laughter of lightskirts ricocheted through the room from all sides, painful to the ears. The wood plank floor sucked at his soles with each step, sticky for reasons he’d no desire to pursue. Worst of all, Samuel had investigated the entire room and Richard was nowhere to be found. He’d suspected as much when the two burly doormen had delayed his entry, but he’d hoped his brother might remain to face him instead of sneaking out the back.
A vain hope, as kept proving the case. His men would find Richard and track him, sending word of his whereabouts, but seemed incapable of cornering him. Richard had always been an expert at escaping responsibility. Samuel turned to depart, and walked into a woman. He caught her by the shoulders to steady her, then dropped his hands.
“I beg your pardon, Miss…” Samuel blinked twice. “Babette?”
The Frenchwoman Richard had brought to their mother’s parlour looked up at Samuel, eyes glazed.
“Do I know you, Monsieur?”
“Mr. Carmichael. Richard’s younger brother. We met briefly.”
Swaying, she rested a palm on his coat front.
“Oui, Mr. Carmichael. I remember your lovely mother. So kind to me.”
“Mademoiselle Babette, have you any notion where Mademoiselle Yvette is?”
If he could secure Yvette, she could tell everyone that she’d been Richard’s mistress, not Samuel’s. A thin hope in view of the penalties she’d suffer once apprehended, but a hope nonetheless. Babette smacked her palm against Samuel’s coat front.
“You think, because we are both French, that I know where she is hiding?” She smacked her palm down again. “I do not know this secret, and nothing you can do or say will convince me to admit otherwise.”
Samuel frowned, watching her sway, her hand on his coat appearing to be all that kept her from toppling over.
“So you do know where to find her?”
“I will never admit that I do.”
He shook his head, uncertain if she knew or if her guilty-seeming evasions were born of a difference in native tongue.
She swayed to the left, starting to topple.
He caught her by the shoulders.
“Mademoiselle Babette, if you see Yvette, please, I beg you, ensure that she knows that Richard is going to see me hang because I cannot prove she isn’t my lover. Whatever punishment she meant to deal him, he’s neatly evaded.”
Should he offer some sort of enticement? Would a monetary reward offend her?
Babette patted his cheek. “Poor Monsieur. I already tell her, over and over, this Richard will not be tamed. Do not try. But Yvette, she is passionate, and she sees the future as she dreams it might be. She is forceful in her love, and so try she must, and now your King would see her hang, despite her state. All for her Richard, who shall not even know sorrow.”
Samuel hoped his brother would feel at least a little sorrow if he and Yvette hung, though obviously not enough to spur Richard to admit the truth.
“He’ll know sorrow if Yvette testifies to my lack of a relationship with her.”
Lids drooping, Babette dipped her head up and down.
“Yes, yes. It is so complicated, but I will tell her.”
Did that mean she could lead him to Yvette?
Babette slumped. Samuel tried to catch her, her limp form sliding through his hands like a wet fish. Unwilling to see her puddle on the floor, he gave up on keeping her upright and scooped her up. Turning, he set her in a chair. Her head lolled back, a snore issuing from her open mouth.
Samuel shook her shoulder. “Babette?” He shook again. She didn’t stir.
“Hey.” A glassy eyed young man stumbled across the room, pointing at Samuel. “Hands off. I paid her for the evening.”
Samuel held up both hands, palms outward. “I only want a word.”
The man reached them. Swaying worse than Babette had, he slurred out, “G’luck with that. Last time she got like this, she didn’t wake for days.” He patted Babette on the head.
