“I’m willing,” Henrietta said.
“You have no idea how difficult it can be. Men won’t treat you with respect. You saw evidence of that today.”
“I thought I handled him quite well.” Henrietta frowned.
Verity gazed anxiously out of the window. Heavy drops of rain began to patter on the carriage roof. “Monsieur Morel is a pussy cat. Not all men are. What would your father think of me leading you into such a life? Leave this to me. I’ll borrow some money enough, so you can return to England.”
Henrietta scowled. “And leave my father locked up in prison? Are you mad?”
At the mention of Anthony, Verity felt slightly ill. As the carriage slowly made its way through the Parisian streets, she watched a trail of thin, hungry people lining up at a bread shop. A hawker bellowed, trying to attract buyers for his wares.
The asylum backed onto the Seine. She paid the fare, and they alighted. The stone building towered above them, impenetrable with narrow barred windows across the front.
Three doors led off the foyer, and an iron gate shut off the corridor, beyond which were the stairs. Foul air rose from the dungeons along with unceasing mumbles of complaint. A sudden blood-curdling cry caused chills to climb Verity’s spine. She grabbed Henrietta’s arm.
One of the doors opened, and a sallow-faced man emerged. “May I be of assistance, citizens?”
Verity walked over to him. “We need information concerning a prisoner.”
His eyebrows rose. “On whose authority?”
“Monsieur Danton.”
His eyebrows rose. “What is it Monsieur Danton requires?”
“He has sent me on an important mission.”
“You have papers?”
Verity reached into her reticule and produced the letter.
He took it and read it. “This authority requests you to travel to England in search of this man, Lord Beaumont.” He shoved it back at her.
Verity ignored Henrietta’s loud gasp. “Which has brought me back to Paris in search of him.”
The man’s jaw jutted. “Why should I believe you?”
Verity’s eyes flashed, and she stamped her foot. “Do you wish me to contact Monsieur Danton? It will not go well for you.”
Fear darkening his eyes. “No need for that! I’ll check the register.”
They followed him deeper into the building. The groans grew louder and echoed around them as they entered his office.
He opened the large register on his desk. Turned the pages and ran his finger down the lists. So many, thought Henrietta, her stomach churning.
He looked up. “Oui, Lord Beaumont is here. He was brought in with Baron St André.”
“Merci,”Verity said. “Monsieur Danton will be pleased to learn of this. I trust Lord Beaumont has been treated well.” To her ears, she sounded remarkably composed.
The man hooked a finger under his neck cloth. “Well, er… he will go to the guillotine in good condition.”
“Expect an inspection in a few days,” Verity said. Henrietta stood stiffly beside her. The building seemed impregnable. Was it a hopeless task to rescue Anthony? They had to try. “Does Jean-Paul Aubrac work here?” Verity smiled flirtatiously. “I hoped to see him.”
“Oui. He works the night shift this week.”
“We worked together in a play. What time does he start?”
“He will be here at six of the clock.” He brightened. “You were in a play together, mademoiselle? Monsieur Aubrac never thought to mention it. I am much enamored of the theatre.”
Verity smiled. “Mademoiselle and I are soon to perform at the Gaite.”
The man ran his gaze over Henrietta. “I shall come to see it. Please inform Monsieur Danton that Lord Beaumont enjoys the best accommodation we can offer.” He bowed them out the asylum door.
