“I don’t know what her mother was like. I did not hear that expressed. But I didn’t find her particularly beautiful or charming.” She shrugged, adopting indifference. “Beaumont mentioned she was a troublesome chit. It can no longer be of importance to you, surely.”
“Matters of the heart never fade. I will have her, and I will put an end to him. Capture the father and the daughter may follow.”
“She would never follow her father to France. She is soon to become engaged to an Englishman. But if Lord Beaumont is in France, as you say, then our agreement is at an end. Will you now honor your promise and free my father?”
He glared at her. “You have failed, Mademoiselle Garnier.” He leaned forward. “There is still a chance for you, however. Bring Beaumont’s daughter to me and I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”
Verity stared at the massive, coarse-featured man. His voice so loud it almost rattled the windows. It served him well as an orator, but was off-putting when close. “That’s impossible. She would hardly listen to me. She took a dislike to me.”
“Then you are a poor actress.” He stroked his chin. “I might send men to assist you, but as things stand here…” Verity held her breath. He shook his head. “You’ve proved to be useless and a waste of my time.” He flicked his hand toward the door. “Get out.”
She stumbled from Danton’s rooms. Power sent men mad. She was sure of it. She rubbed her arms and hurried down the stairs. Her failure to please him would place her on a list, and her life might now be in danger. Particularly if he spoke to Jacques Rocchard about her. After she smashed a vase over his head, Jacques would be only too pleased to give her away. News of her appearance at the prison could reach Danton too.
She had to find another way to free her father.
Verity stood at the entrance to the dungeons of the Conciergerie where her father had been sent. A large pool of dried blood lay on the cobbles and stained the nearby brick wall. The stench of death remained. She picked up her skirts and walked to the guard room door. Boisterous soldiers were crowded inside.
A guard sauntered over to her, a pistol stuck in his belt. “What do you want, mademoiselle?”
“Can you tell me if Professor Florent Garnier is here in the cells?”
He bold gaze roamed over her, then fixed on her breasts. “What is your interest in him, citizeness?”
“He is my father.”
“Wait here.” The guards all turned to study her.
A bulky man with a pock-marked face detached himself from the group. She cringed while he subjected her to intense scrutiny. “What will you give for that information?”
Verity straightened her shoulders. “I’m here at the bequest of Citizen Danton.”
He raised an inquiring eyebrow. Danton’s name worked like magic again for he swiveled and went back to the guard room.
When he returned, he smiled as if he had pleasant news. “Professor Garnier is not here, citizeness.”
“Where… where has he been sent?”
He shrugged. “If you and I spent time together, I can find out.”
She looked down at herself. A ragged border of mud stained the hem of her gown, her shoes were scuffed. Her appearance safeguarded her in the streets, but it also made her look like fair game to any man who wished to lift her skirts and have his way with her. He didn’t know where her father was. She shook her head and hurried away.
* * *
Christian had no luck locating Henrietta’s whereabouts. With fear gnawing at his gut, he walked the streets, wondering where he might try next. Paris ran with blood, and the people he passed either looked furtive or resigned. The last shred of hope for the king’s release faded as he awaited trial. The Tuileries had been invaded, and the king forced to bow to rampaging peasants. Marie Antoinette’s friend, Princesse de Lamballe, had been raped and murdered, her head placed atop a pike and paraded beneath the Queen’s windows at the Temple.
The September massacre emptied the dungeons of the Conciergerie, the occupants brutally slain in the courtyards without the right of a hearing. The Girondins had accused Danton and the Incorruptible, Robespierre, who had done nothing to stop it. The sans culottes had murdered half the Paris population, many of them women, boys, and priests. All available young men were sent to fight in the Patriot army against the Austrians and the Prussians. Citizens in red capes presided over the tribunals, which were absent of law and protocol. They sent almost all the prisoners to their deaths. France had become very dangerous for Christian. Now that war with England loomed, any Englishman found in France was labeled a counterrevolutionary and summarily executed.
Christian had defied his orders by returning to Paris, such insubordination placed him in a bad light. He knew he had some explaining to do to his spymaster when he returned to England. The best he could hope for was that he was judged fairly and allowed to resign. What he had witnessed in the last few years had removed any trace of the youthful enthusiasm he’d had to create a better world. He should return to England straight away, time was not on his side. But the possibility that Henrietta might be caught here and embroiled in this horror made it impossible.
He turned on his heel and crossed the avenue leading to Rue Richelieu. He would turn his focus to finding the actress, Mademoiselle Garnier. Could they both be part of the Comédie-Française, now the reformedthéâtre de la République?He would search all the theatres in Paris if need be. It was drawing a long bow, but someone might remember two exceptionally lovely blonde women.
* * *
Verity entered her apartment. The furniture rescued from her father’s house, before it had been seized and stripped after his arrest, looked dusty and out of place. She’d tried to make a home for herself here, but it never really felt like one. The rooms smelled musty. An odd feeling stole over her as if she’d never expected to return and was surprised to find herself here again.
Her kind landlord, Monsieur Balzac offered to take the trunk to Argenteuil tomorrow in his cart. Bless the man. Without his help she would have been desperate. He’d been a caretaker at the Sorbonne. He came to her aid after her father’s arrest and brought her here to live.
Before returning to Argenteuil, she would go to the theatre. Speak to Monsieur Morel. That man had tentacles everywhere. Many people died in the massacre, but he might have heard something of her father.
