Hostage to Love Page 15

  Fortunately, because of the weather, the avenue was almost deserted. Footsteps sounded, echoing eerily in the cobbled street. Verity clutched Henrietta’s arm.

  A man emerged out of the mist. Short and dark-haired, he walked briskly to the asylum entrance.

  Verity ran forward. “Jean-Paul Aubrac?” He turned his face young and handsome in the flickering light from the street lantern.

  He peered at them and took a step in their direction. “Who is it?”

  “Jean-Paul, it is I, Verity Garnier.”

  “Mademoiselle Garnier? What on earth…”

  “Oui.” Verity stepped into the arc of light. “I must beg your help, Jean-Paul.”

  “My help?” Bewildered, he turned and stared at Henrietta. “Who is this?”

  “My cousin, Henrietta.” Verity grabbed his sleeve. “Jean-Paul, mon ami, it is good to see you, but under such terrible circumstances. Tell me, is the Englishman, Lord Beaumont, still held in this prison?”

  “Beaumont? Oui. There was talk of moving he and the French nobleman with him, upstairs.”

  “Are they in good health?” Henrietta thrust forward, earning a sharp glance from Verity.

  “Wounded, both. The Frenchman is in a bad way. Not that it matters, only a matter of time until…”

  “We must get them out before the tribunal,” Henrietta said, her voice low and urgent.

  Jean-Paul’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “Impossible.”

  “Come now, Jean-Paul. Nothing is impossible.” Henrietta placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. “We would be most grateful.”

  Jean-Paul’s gaze flickered over Henrietta’s face. His cheeks reddened. “You are an actress too, mademoiselle? I don’t believe I’ve come across you. Where have you performed?”

  “I am new to the theatre, monsieur.”

  “What is your interest in Lord Beaumont?” he asked Verity.

  “He is my patron,” Verity said. “He promised to take us both to England.”

  Henrietta took a deep breath. “He takes care of my cousin, and in these troubled times...” She clutched the lapel of his coat, damp from the mist. “There must be a way. Has anyone ever escaped from this prison?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Once, a man broke out, back in the days when this was an asylum. Paid his jailer to hide him in a laundry basket.”

  “Is there another way, Jean-Paul?” Verity asked.

  “No! If I were to help you, I’d go to the guillotine too.”

  “I remember you confessing you wished to leave France. I may be able to pay you,” Verity said.

  He looked furtively around. “Please don’t repeat that to anyone.”

  “We’ll make it worth your while,” Henrietta said.

  “I doubt it. It would take a goodly amount. I must go. We can discuss it later.”

  Verity shook her head. “Non. We must decide now.”

  “Then I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I must begin my shift, or I’ll be penniless on the streets.” Jean-Paul pulled his sleeve away from Henrietta’s fingers and turned toward the steps.

  “Wait!” Henrietta delved into the pocket in her skirts. She held up a handful of jewels, sparkling in the lantern light. “These will be yours should you help us. There’s enough here to get you far away from Paris. To a better life.”

  Verity stared at them open-mouthed.

  Jean-Paul put his hand out, but Henrietta moved back. She dangled her mother’s sapphire necklace from her fingers. “These are very fine. A king’s ransom, no?”

  “One might say a lord’s ransom.” Jean-Paul stared at her hand. “You stole them?”

  “What does that matter? They are genuine.”

  His gaze rested on the jewels. Verity put a hand on his shoulder. “You agree, mon ami?”

  “I will help you if you can you get hold of a boat. Return at eleven of the clock.”

  “A boat? How can we find a boat at this late hour?” Verity asked.

  “The river is the only possible way of escape,” he said. “There are guards on every floor. But steps lead down to the Seine at the rear of the building. When the shift changes, I have a few minutes to move them. If you’re there with a boat, I’ll bring them down. If you’re not, I will know that you’ve failed.”

  “We’ll be there,” Henrietta said, as a small kernel of hope warmed her.

  Jean-Paul nodded. A clock somewhere boomed the hour. He ran up the steps, opened the door, and disappeared inside.

  Verity turned to observe her with lifted brows. “You failed to mention the jewels.”

  “They were always to be used to free my father.” Henrietta raised her chin. “You didn’t tell me about the pistol.”

  “Because I feared you’d shoot someone. You don’t trust me.” It was a bald statement of fact.

  Henrietta wanted to, desperately. What other motive could Verity have for freeing her father? But she could not dismiss the reason she came to London. “Should I?”

  Verity shrugged. She turned and dashed out onto the street, her arm raised.

  Henrietta was afraid she might step in front of a carriage, she looked so determined. An empty carriage trundled around the corner a few minutes later. An old Berliner with a crest on the door panel. It would have once belonged to an aristocrat who had been parted from his property, and perhaps his head. The Berliner would be monstrously slow.

  The jarvie was forced to pull the horses up or run Verity down. “Where to, mademoiselle?”

  “Argenteuil, s’il vous plaît.”

  “Argenteuil? That’s miles away.”

  “I’m aware of it.”

  The two women climbed inside. Verity stared out the window. “The mob will pull us limb from limb should they suspect we’re aristocrats.”

  “But why are we going there?” Henrietta watched her, confused. “Do we have time?”

  “My uncle owns a boat. I can think of nothing else.”

  “Your uncle? Can you trust him? It doesn’t matter. It’s too far. We won’t get back in time.”

  Verity placed her hands on her cheeks her eyes wild. “What else can we do?”

  “We’ll have to steal one.”

  “Steal a boat?” Verity’s eyes widened. “Are you mad?”

  Henrietta grabbed Verity’s wrist and gave it a shake. “We are about to break the laws of the Republic. What matter if we stretch them a little further?”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Verity tapped the roof of the carriage. The panel slid back.

  “We have changed our minds, monsieur.”

  They’d gone about mile when Verity had him stop.

  Henrietta wanted to scream at the time wasted as they climbed down onto the road. Verity had no plan. It would be impossible to find a boat. But apparently undaunted, or else driven by desperation, Verity picked up her skirts and hurried into a dark alley.

  Henrietta ran after her.

  Somewhere, a baby cried, and cats yowled. The unnerving sound of running feet came closer and louder. The hairs quivered on the back of Henrietta’s neck. The stench of an open sewer made her gag. She held a handkerchief to her nose and stayed close to Verity.

  They were approaching the river. The mist cleared and allowed a glimpse of the swirling waters below them. Verity descended a steep stairway. Shadows moved beneath a bridge farther along the riverbank. People were settling there for the night. Henrietta held a hand against the hard ball formed by the jewels in her skirt pocket, which banged against her thigh. She must not lose them. They raced along the river path keeping their distance from the edge. Below, was a smelly black mass of putrid water. Henrietta shivered and drew her cloak closer, the mist touching her face like a dead hand.

  At last, Verity stopped. Two wooden row-boats rocked on the water, stoutly secured to a post with thick ropes. A boy stretched out in one, asleep.

  Henrietta hurried over to untie a boat.

  “Shouldn’t we ask? We’ll be in terrible trouble if we’re caught, Henrietta,” V
erity whispered.

  “We’re in terrible trouble now.” Henrietta’s cold fingers worked at the rope knot belonging to the empty boat. “We’re just borrowing it.”

  The boy opened his eyes, spying them, he picked up a length of wood. He climbed to his feet. “What might you be doing, Mesdemoiselles? These boats belong to my papa. He will be very angry if you take one.”

  Henrietta smiled at the boy. Upright, he appeared older, bigger, and stronger, than she’d first thought. “We are in urgent need of a boat. We’ll pay. A short trip.”

  He yawned and scratched his chest, then grinned as if he’d seen so much of life already, this was of no surprise to him. He dropped the piece of wood. “How much will you pay?”

  Verity took money from her reticule and held it out to him. He counted it. “Very well. But I shall come too.”

  “You will row the boat for us?” Verity sounded relieved. Horatia was too, she’d rowed on the river at home, but she was slow.

  “You are not strong enough to row against the current,” the boy said. “We’d be gone the whole night.”

  Verity nodded. “We must go upriver a little way, not far.”

  He cocked his head. “Then why don’t you walk?”

  “What is your name?” Henrietta asked him.

  “Remi.”

  “Remi, you ask too many questions. Help us aboard.”

  Picking up their skirts they took Remi’s hand and stepped into the rowboat. It rocked dangerously and reeked of fish. A net was draped across one seat. “Sit down.” Remi frowned. “Don’t put a hole in that net with your shoes, or my papa will string me up in it.”

  Remi untied the boat and took up the oars. He rowed strongly, out into the middle of the fast-flowing river. As they headed up stream something heavy bumped against the boat, freed itself and rushed away.

  “What was that?” Verity asked.

  Remi shrugged. “A branch of a tree, or a body perhaps.”

  “A body!” Henrietta’s voice sounded hollow, an echo bouncing off the buildings each side of the river. She met Verity’s horrified glance and grimaced.

  “Keep your voices low. Don’t act like women and scream, whatever you do. You’ll bring trouble down on our heads.”

  “We are not fools,” Verity said. “Please concentrate on your rowing.”

  “Do you wish to come back with me?”

  “Oui. We will have two extra passengers,” Verity said.

  Remi stopped rowing. He threw the oars down. “Two more? That wasn’t agreed on. There will be too much weight. It will sink us.”

  “No, it won’t,” Henrietta pleaded. “Please keep rowing. We are drifting back again.”

  Remi put an oar in the water and the boat turned about. “I cannot risk it. It will be more than my life is worth, if this boat goes to the bottom.”

  “We will pay you more. Much more.” Henrietta drew a sapphire and diamond earring from her pocket and dangled it. Even in the misty light the gems gleamed like glow-worms on a dark night.

  Remi’s brown eyes grew enormous in his narrow face. “How come you have that? The National Assembly demanded all jewelry be donated to pay for a new army. I know, because Madame Bois gave up her garnet necklace and declared herself a patriot.”

  “You need never tell anyone you have it.” Henrietta held it closer. “Keep it for your future.”

  “It’s enough to buy me a boat.” He watched as Henrietta shoved it back into her skirts.

  “Then it’s yours. If you agree to take us, bring us all back safely, and say nothing about it to anyone. Not even your papa,” Verity said.

  “Do hurry, please.” Henrietta bit her lip in frustration. During the negotiation, the boat had drifted back almost to where they’d started.

  Remi picked up the oars again. “Where am I to find these two persons?”

  “At the Asylum of St Germaine,” Verity said.

  Remi raised his head to stare at them. “Don’t tell me. Better I don’t know.” He stroked strongly through the water and said nothing more.

  Henrietta tensely listened to the swirl and whoosh of the river, the background noise of the city, and the scuttle of rats along the water’s edge. “How far now?”

  “It’s hard to recognize any landmarks in this mist,” Verity said. “Do you know where we are, Remi?”

  “It’s not far,” he said. “the mist works in our favor. We see no one and they don’t see us.”

  “That’s true,” Henrietta said peering ahead. The mist played with them, drifting down to hide the buildings bordering the river. Remi’s thin voice emerged eerily out of the fog. “We are here.”

  A block of deep shadow except for candlelight flickering in one of the windows. The boat scraped against the stone wall which rose above them into the mist.

  “There!” Henrietta pointed to an archway where steps lead down to a walkway above the water, just as Jean-Paul had said.

  “It must be close to eleven,” Verity murmured. “Can we tie the boat and wait?”

  Remi grabbed the rope and nimbly jumped onto the walkway. He secured the boat to a metal ring.

  They waited, not daring to speak. The damp seeped through Henrietta’s cloak and her thin gown. She shuddered uncontrollably with cold and apprehension.

  Remi lay back with his hands on his chest, looking for all the world like a grandpa enjoying a Sunday nap after luncheon. Verity shuffled about on the hard seat close beside her as nervous and uncomfortable as Henrietta was. They waited.

  They sat up at the clang of metal above them. The gate opened, and a man appeared on the steps. Jean-Paul was alone. He raised his hand, turned around and disappeared inside.

  The gate closed again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They were now in a better room. Unable to discover the reason for the change, Anthony lay on his bed, while Philippe slept. Whatever the reason, the beds were welcome as was their first decent meal in days, the water fresh and plentiful.

  He lay dozing when their cell door opened. A man entered with a candle. He silenced them, a finger to his lips.

  “You must come with me,” he whispered. “Make no noise.”

  “Where do we go?”

  “Away from this place, if all goes well.”

  “You are helping us escape?” Anthony wondered if he was dreaming. He placed a hand over Philippe’s mouth. Motioned for him to rise.

  Phillippe nodded and struggled up, fear in his eyes.

  “This man will help us,” Anthony murmured in his ear. “We must be quiet.”

  Philippe attempted to stand. His knees buckled.

  “For the Lord’s sake, hurry, we only have a few minutes before the changing of the guard,” the man hissed.

  With an arm around his waist, Anthony hefted Philippe through the door and into the dark corridor. The sobs and moans from the wretched prisoners, followed them.

  “This way.”

  Why would this man help them? Not yet allowing himself to hope, Anthony hitched Philippe against his shoulder and they shuffled after their rescuer, following him down a stairway.

  Laughter floated up from below, and the man paused. “Our superior has his woman here,” he muttered. He blew out the candle, and they stood in the dark. Anthony listened to the thud of his own heartbeat, and Philippe’s strained breathing as he fought to stay upright.

  The man tapped Anthony’s arm. “Slowly.” He continued down with them behind him, step by agonizing step. Beside him, Phillippe hissed through his teeth, but doggedly shuffled on.

  The man produced a large key and unlocked a heavy iron door. When he struggled with it, Anthony stepped forward to help him. The door creaked open, and they stared into the dark misty night. An iron grill barred their way. The man unlocked it and ushered them out onto the moss-covered steps. Anthony could hear and smell the Seine below them. He gasped. He wasn’t dreaming.

  * * *

  Verity licked her dry lips. Her nerves jangled worse than her stage debut. He
nrietta fidgeted beside her.

  “I’ve caught my gown on a nail,” Henrietta said pulling at it.

  Something flipped in the water. Remi had thrown in a line and caught a fish! He pulled the small slippery body aboard and removed the hook.

  He grinned. “Dinner!”

  The metal gate squeaked. Three men crowded onto the steps. Anthony! Verity grinned at Henrietta, whose face was alive with happiness.

  Remi jumped onto the bank as Anthony and the Frenchman struggled down to them. The baron was unsteady and in danger of falling. Anthony held him up, an arm around his waist, clutching the iron rail.

  Jean-Paul came down behind them. He squatted and held out both his hands. Henrietta reached up and placed the sapphire necklace carefully into them. Nodding, he shoved the jewel necklace into his pocket, turned and disappeared inside. The metal gate slammed shut behind him.

  “Papa!” Henrietta’s urgent whisper carried over the water.

  Remi signaled for quiet. He organized where each of them sat to better balance the boat. The baron was next Henrietta. A big familiar body wedged in beside Verity.

  “Verity?” Anthony stared down at her, confusion in his eyes. He was barely recognizable with a dark beard, gaunt cheeks, and razor-sharp cheekbones. He stared at his daughter where his companion slumped against her shoulder. “Hetta?” he whispered, incredulous. “What the Dickens?” He shook his head as if to clear it.

  Remi dug in an oar and turned the boat about. It was riding alarmingly low in the water. The current was with them this time. Verity watched the walls of the asylum vanish as they were swept along.

  “We came to France to rescue you, Papa.” Henrietta’s voice trembled.

  “Later, Hetta,” he said gruffly.

  With a keen knowledge of the river tides, Remi rowed strongly back the way they’d come. How long before their escape was discovered? Verity leaned her head against Anthony’s shoulder. His body was taut as a bowstring. He was angry with her for bringing Henrietta to France. She expected it. It hardly mattered. He’d hate her anyway when he discovered the whole of it. But they were not yet free, and for now their escape must take precedence. She knew where to take them. Not her tiny apartment, for there was nowhere to hide them, and she refused to place her kind landlord in further danger. Her Uncle François was her father’s brother. He wouldn’t turn them away or alert the authorities. Once they were safe, she would go to Danton at the Palais de Justice, and demand to be told where her father was. Panic tightened her chest. If he still lived.