The Honorable Officer (30 page)

“If Ménine wants me in exchange for Ondine and Jean-Louis, I’ll go. I’m afraid someone will have to drive me there, though,” said Madame de Cantière.

The men protested, of course.

She waited until they quieted. “When Ondine is safe, you can come back for me. Ondine is my uncle’s heir, and Bernard Ménine has as much reason to want her dead.”

Fourbier winced. That beautiful little girl reminded him of his own sister and his niece—annoying, but amusing, with the potential to charm. Henri paled, just as he did every time someone mentioned harm to his niece.

“He doesn’t know I’m married, but as of today, I come into my inheritance, and he and his father would not benefit from my death. Before I married, I wrote a will leaving everything to Ondine. I didn’t know I still had a share of the factory, though.”

“So he would benefit from your death followed by hers?”

“My uncle would give up all hope if Ondine died. He would sell the company to them, or at least retire. He would want vengeance for Ondine’s death, but Ménine might blackmail him into silence, since he probably knows how my uncle hid my inheritance from me.” Her face twisted in fear, and Fourbier rushed to take her hands.

“He’ll need to kill you in a precise order. Even for a conscienceless bastard, that’s a lot of bloodshed in the name of furniture,” said Fourbier.

She shook her head. “I suspect it has as much to do with Amandine as it does with furniture.”

“Jean-Louis’ wife? Late wife?” said Henri. “Ondine’s mother?”

Madame Hélène shrugged. “Bernard wanted to marry her. Everyone assumed they would marry, until the baron approached my uncle and offered Jean-Louis as a son-in-law. They barred the door to Bernard after that. I thought Amandine would elope with Bernard rather than go through with it, but about a week before, she seemed resigned, even content. She wanted to be a grand lady.”

The colonel had never spoken of his late wife, though she had died about the same time Fourbier became his aide-de-camp, but now, with this information, it was no surprise le Colonel de Cantière chose not to speak of his late wife.

Madame Hélène said, “Jean-Louis wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but the baby who died with Amandine wasn’t his. She told him it was probably Bernard’s.”

The silence was suddenly more ominous. Fourbier nodded and patted her hand. He had guessed as much before, when she asked him about it in Poitou.

Henri looked as if he was ready to tear someone apart with his bare hands. “So he’s come unhinged in the last year. He thinks he should have the share of the manufactory that would have been his from Amandine.”

Madame Hélène sighed. “And he hates me. He always disliked me, ignored me, laughed at the terrible things Amandine said about me.” She didn’t look all that pained. “But I had the nerve to turn down his offer of marriage. He must have learned he would have the other third of the business if he married me, though I had no idea.”

****

The baron and Monsieur Henri insisted that Hélène stay in the townhouse. She finally put her foot down. “I must go at once, not wait until the perfect strategy is laid out. Bernard will want to marry me now, to force me into it. I have to know Jean-Louis and Ondine are safe. And my aunt and uncle. I do not want them dead.”

While someone called for a carriage, Fourbier showed her how to fix Ondine’s elbow, in case it was the same dislocation she had suffered before.

“My brother-in-law would grab his children by the arm to make them obey,” Fourbier said. “My niece’s elbow came out at least twice a week.”

Hélène stared at him in shock, then squeezed his hands.

“I hated leaving the children.” He bowed to her and strode out, turning his face from the others.

Henri watched after him and then followed.

The carriage pulled up, and the baron helped her with her cloak. “I’ll ride in the carriage with you. There will be only a coachman on top. Everyone else will move in quietly while I go for the guard.”

He held her hand as she worried about her poor Ondine and at least as much about Jean-Louis. Bernard had no reason not to hurt him.

The baron was still talking about their plans, but she said, “I’m sorry. I cannot concentrate. I will go in and do what I can to make Bernard release everyone else.”

“No, no, no,” said de la Brosse. “Jean-Louis would never forgive me if you were left behind. I would never forgive myself. I am your father now.”

Hélène nodded. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to Jean-Louis or Ondine.

The carriage left her at the front door of the factory and drove off as a rough-looking man let her in.

“Where is Ondine? Where is my niece?” She stood up straighter, squinting at the man through her eyeglasses.

The man muttered something nasty, but she was hardly listening. “Take me to Ondine. Now.”

The man stepped back, scowling, but pointed her toward a door. Opening it, she found it led to a dark, narrow staircase. She inched down it, unable to see her feet in the darkness. At the bottom, she waited until her eyes started to adjust, listening for noises.

She spotted a flicker of light to her right just as Bernard stepped around a corner with a candle. He smirked. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“I had to order a carriage since I cannot ride. I had to sneak out so that the de Cantière family wouldn’t come with me. I did as you said.” She had never been a good liar, but she didn’t have the slightest qualm in lying to Bernard.

Bernard offered to take her cloak, but she said it was too cold and she would keep it.

“We must check it for hidden weapons,” he said.

She handed it over, then wrapped her arms around herself as he checked the pockets. There wasn’t anything to find as long as he didn’t insist on checking the pockets of her skirts.

Finally, he handed the cloak back. “The eyeglasses are hideous. Give them to me,” he said. “You are ugly enough without them.”

She looked down, trying to react the way she would have a few weeks before. She eased the glasses from her face and handed them to him. She hated being blind. She would never get used to it again.

“You will need them to sign the marriage contract. Otherwise, I would break them,” he said.

“Marriage contract?” she said, looking up sharply at his indistinct outline. She had to pretend to be surprised; that was part of the plan. She was to pretend to be as cowed and dull as before—before she had rescued herself and Ondine, before she had gained confidence, before Jean-Louis had said he loved her.

“Of course. It will all be mine. And since you disappeared for so long and your birthday has arrived, it became pointless to just kill you. I will marry you now and kill you later.”

“Do you think the de Cantière family will let you get away with that?” She was defiant in spite of—or maybe because of—the shiver of fear that went through her. “They already think of me as Ondine’s mother, and I am engaged to the colonel.”

“Well, maybe I will let you live for a few weeks. I might even consummate the marriage, as long as I can do it in the dark. Then, there will be a sad accident.”

She shuddered again.
At least there is a hope I might escape
… But she was already married. That information would save her, if she introduced it at the right moment. She wished she could consult with Jean-Louis on strategy and Fourbier on subterfuge.

“Let me see Ondine. I will not agree to anything at all until I see that she is all right,” she said.

Bernard turned his back on her. Did he really think her helpless? Going to a door on the far wall, he opened it and waved her in before slamming it behind her and locking it.

Someone grabbed her and hugged her hard. She tried to shove whoever it was away until Jean-Louis said, “
Mon Dieu!
You should not have come. I would have saved Ondine. I almost have the window grate loose.”

She went up on her tiptoes and whispered, “The others are outside,” before wrapping her arms around him.

“Where is Ondine?” she asked as she pulled back.

“Asleep in the corner. They closed her in here alone last night, since they arrived at about four this morning. She was icy cold when I got here with your charming aunt and uncle at about seven.”

Hélène couldn’t see anything. She had become dependent on her eyeglasses and now felt exposed, though in the dim light the eyeglasses would have made little difference anyway. “Could you take me to her, please?”

Jean-Louis led her across the cavernous room, ignoring her aunt and uncle’s questions.

She knelt next to Ondine and touched her head. The girl opened her eyes and said, “Nénène?”

“Oui, chérie,” said Hélène.

The girl held one arm up to be picked up. Hélène kissed her all over her face, but took the arm she was cradling and felt it. It was hot and swollen.

“No, Nénène. Booboo!” said Ondine with a wail.

Hélène took the arm and pulled it slightly as she twisted it right and then left, and Ondine screeched. Hélène picked her up, and Ondine threw both arms around her neck, howling.

Jean-Louis was just behind her. “You will have to show me how to do that when this is over.”

She looked up at him, unable to see his face but smiling at his reassuring presence. He leaned down and steadied her as she stood.

Reaching into her pocket, she whispered, “Take my knife.”

“They let you keep a knife?” Jean-Louis whispered back, astonished.

“He didn’t check my skirt pocket, only my cloak.”

She pressed the knife into his hand, hoping her aunt and uncle would not see what she was doing.

“You should keep it to defend yourself.” Jean-Louis tried to give it back.

“I have a smaller one in the other pocket. I cannot see. I might stab you or your brother or…anyone.”

“Is it sharp?”

“It’s pointy. I haven’t sharpened it since I cut through the tents with it.”

“It was sharp enough then.”

“What are you saying?” demanded Hélène’s aunt from across the room.

“Whispered endearments,” said Jean-Louis, his face so close to Hélène she could see his smile.

She kissed him, gently.

The lock scraped and the door opened.

“Tell him goodbye, Hélène, and come,” said Bernard’s voice.

After squeezing the girl to her tightly, she handed Ondine to her husband and leaned against him one more time.

“Drag her out,” Bernard said.

Someone grabbed her arm. The hand was old and wrinkled—her uncle.

Out in the narrow underground hallway, she felt the breeze from the door swinging shut. Bernard said, “And now we wed.”

“What?” said Jean-Louis’ voice, and then there was a thump on the storage room door just as the key turned in the lock.

“Is the priest here?” Hélène asked. “I will need to confess before taking such an important sacrament.”

Bernard laughed snidely. “What does an ignorant girl like you have to confess to?”

She looked at him—the vague blob that was him—and raised her eyebrows. “More than you know. And certainly less than you have done.”

He dragged her by the arm to the base of the stairs. “The priest has strict orders to marry us, no matter what you say. He has been told that you are reluctant, but that you are underage and have to do what your uncle says.”

She stared straight ahead, concentrating on the stairs and then on weaving through the unfinished furniture, Bernard walking much too quickly and knocking her into things.

When they reached the front showroom of the manufactory, Bernard released her. “My bride wishes to make her confession,
mon père
.”

Hélène was left stranded in the middle of an area cluttered with what appeared to be desks. She took a deep breath. The plan. “Is there a place where we cannot be overheard?”

Bernard grunted. Her uncle took her arm and shoved her into his office. She sat in an armless chair, taking deep breaths to keep her panic down. A form in black sat across from her, and she smiled slightly. The priest leaned forward, and she squinted until she could see him better. Her faint hope that it would be their own parish priest was dashed, though the man looked friendly enough.

“Isn’t it irregular to have a wedding in a manufactory?” she asked.

He sighed. “If the donation is big enough and the family eager, we can bend the rules. Especially with a license from the bishop. And they tell me you have been, ah, compromised by a long voyage with another man.”

She smiled slightly. “Bernard tried to have me and my niece killed, so I took her to her father.”

The priest shook his head. “He said you would say something like that. He is eager to marry you, and your uncle is your guardian, is he not?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Hélène said, honestly. “Does he stop being my guardian at midnight at the beginning of my birthday? Or at the moment of my birth? Or at midnight at the end of the day? My father’s will frees me from them on my twenty-fourth birthday.”

“Now, Mademoiselle…”

“Madame. I am already married.”

The priest took a deep breath. “Now this is getting outrageous.”

“But you can’t make me marry someone else if I am already married, even if I did so without my uncle’s approval, right?” she said.

“They said you would lie,” said the priest, though he didn’t sound as sure of himself as he had before.

“In any case, I can produce the proof. I didn’t bring it with me when I got the note from my husband. He is being held here.”

“Held? Here?”

“He and my niece are prisoners in the basement. They had my aunt and uncle down there, too, but I guess Bernard wanted this to look as normal as possible. Why do you think there are rough men with knives and muskets hanging around?”

“This is beyond ridiculous. You should be locked up, not married,” said the priest, standing up suddenly.

“You still haven’t heard my confession,” she said, smiling up at him. “And even if you wish to make me a bigamist, I certainly don’t want it. I haven’t been to confession since this all started almost two months ago.”

“You’re delaying the inevitable,” he grumbled.

She sighed and he sat down, sighing also.