Petals in the Storm (32 page)

"My dear child!" Appalled, Maggie walked over and put her arms around her guest.

Cynthia sagged against her for a few moments, then resolutely pushed herself away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. I must talk to you." She looked doubtfully at He1ene, who had poured a glass of brandy and now offered it.

Maggie said, "Don't worry, you can speak freely before Madame Sorel. She and I are close friends, and she can be trusted with anything. Now, what has happened to you?"

Accepting both the assurance and the brandy, Cynthia sank into a chair and set down the small portmanteau she carried. "I was able to search my husband's desk."

"Did he catch you and beat you?" Maggie exclaimed, feeling horribly guilty for having put Cynthia up to it.

"No, he beat me for quite different reasons," her guest said bitterly. "When I searched the desk yesterday, I had ample time to find a secret drawer, copy everything inside, and leave the papers as I found them." She pulled half a dozen sheets of writing paper from her portmanteau and handed them to Maggie. "I didn't dare bring the originals, but I thought you might be able to make sense of these."

Maggie set the papers down for later examination.

"If Northwood didn't know of your search, why did he beat you?"

"I had finally decided to leave him. To stay was insupportable, and Michael swears that he is willing to face the consequences, no matter what Oliver might do. However, Michael was sent to the fortress at Huninguen and won't be back for several more days, so I had to wait. Unfortunately, reaching a decision made me almost giddy with relief, and I think that Oliver guessed that something was in the wind."

She looked down at her hands, with their short-bitten nails. "This morning Oliver came into my room unexpectedly when I was dressing, and immediately saw that I was increasing. He knew the baby couldn't be his, and he was enraged. He made my maid leave and began to beat me, calling me horrible names and saying that he hoped I'd lose the filthy brat, and if he was lucky, I'd die, too. Then he locked me in my room."

She began weeping, but managed to say through her tears, "I can't go back there, he'll kill me! Please, Maggie, can I stay with you until Michael returns?"

"Of course you can," Maggie said warmly. "He'll never find you here. How did you escape from the locked room?"

Cynthia smiled with a touch of pride. "I was quite the tomboy when I was a girl. After he left for work, I tied the bedsheets together and climbed down, then came here in a cab."

"That was resourceful," Maggie said with genuine respect. "But now it's time for you to rest—you must be exhausted."

Maggie installed Cynthia in a guest room and sent for a physician to check the girl's injuries. Then she settled down with Helene in the dining room to study the papers Cynthia had brought. Most consisted of cryptic phrases, the kind of jottings a person doodles while thinking, and which are almost impossible for another person to decipher. There was one list of gambling vowels, and another that detailed sums of money in francs, possibly from winnings or losses.

Though Maggie was disappointed, she supposed that even a dolt like Northwood was unlikely to leave anything too incriminating around—always assuming that the man was guilty of anything more than ordinary beastliness. Secret compartments were common in desks, and one of the first places that would be searched. Maggie's own desk had a secret drawer; she had filled it with scorching but synthetic love letters that would support her reputation as a brainless doxy if anyone discovered them. She and Robin had gotten helpless with laughter when they had composed them....

The memory made her ache, so she turned to the next page. A phrase scrawled in the middle jumped out at her: "Anderson—spy? Possible danger."

She and Helene saw it at the same time. Voice tight, Maggie said, "This doesn't prove anything about Robin."

"No, it doesn't," Helene agreed. "You still believe in his innocence, don't you,
mon amie?"

"Yes," Maggie said bleakly. "I think that he disappeared because he got too close to the fire once too often." Eyes stinging, she laid out the last sheet of paper.

The drawing on it caught both women by surprise, for it was one of the crests that Maggie had traced at Madame Daudet's: the three-headed serpent of the d'Aguste family. Underneath was written, Le Serpent, and a triumphant Eureka!

After a long moment, Maggie said, "Obviously Northwood is involved in some secret work. The question is, for whom?"

"And what did this crest mean to him? If this is indeed the crest of Le Serpent, the puzzle is solved once we understand who it is connected to," Helene said thoughtfully.

"Perhaps we are finally making some progress," Maggie replied. "But I feel more as if we are opening Chinese boxes, and that each contains another that is even more complicated."

At that moment, the butler entered to announce the arrival of the physician. Helene rose to take her leave, promising to return that evening after her confrontation with Colonel von Fehrenbach.

Maggie prayed that her friend's initiative would bring them closer to their goal before another disaster struck.

Helene dressed carefully for her confrontation with Colonel von Fehrenbach, choosing a blue dress that was feminine but unprovocative. Though she had two reasons for visiting him, neither was seduction in the usual sense.

Candover took her to von Fehrenbach's in his own carriage. He had also arranged for four British soldiers to meet him at the colonel's building, where they would wait on the back stairs in case she needed assistance.

On the carriage ride, Rafe offered Helene a pistol small enough to fit into her reticule. She rejected the offer with distaste. To appease him, she agreed to take a whistle whose shriek could penetrate several walls if necessary.

Her mind drifted to thoughts of Maggie and Rafe. She could feel the tension between them and wondered if it was because they desired each other and had done nothing about it, or because they had___

Thinking about them made a refreshing change from worrying about her own concerns, because in spite of her surface confidence, the prospect of this interview with the Prussian officer terrified her.

The carriage halted in front of a mansion in the Marais district, not far from Madame Daudet's. The building was divided into flats, and the colonel lived in one with only a manservant, who should have the evening off. Since von Fehrenbach avoided the temptations of Parisian nightlife, going out only when his duties required it, Helene should find him alone.

Candover got out and went around to the back to meet his soldiers and enter the building from the rear. After touching a nervous hand to her hair, Helene also stepped down from the carriage. Inside, the concierge directed her to the second floor, front apartment.

The mansion had been built in the early eighteenth century, and it retained much of its grandeur. As she stood in front of von Fehrenbach's door, Helene glanced down the hall to the door which concealed her bodyguard. Then she knocked.

After a delay of some moments, the colonel answered the door himself, confirming that the servant was out. Though von Fehrenbach was not in uniform, his unyielding posture marked him as unmistakably a soldier. His pale blond hair shone silver in the lamplight; he was a very handsome man, in the fashion of an ice prince.

They regarded each other in silence while fierce, primal attraction thrummed between them. It had been that way since the first time they had met, though neither had ever acknowledged it.

His face reflecting shock, and a complex mixture of other emotions, he said coldly, "Madame Sorel. What an unlikely pleasure. What brings you here this evening?"

"A matter of some urgency." Meeting his gaze required her to tilt her head rather far back. "If I promise not to compromise you, will you let me come in so that I may discuss it?"

A hint of color touched his cheeks, and he stood aside so she could enter. Inclining her head in thanks, she stepped into the drawing room and accepted an offered chair.

The rooms were well proportioned and impeccably neat, but apart from the well-filled bookcase, there was an unwelcoming austerity. It was as Helene expected; a person's interior state was mirrored in his surroundings, and the colonel had winter in his soul.

Not bothering to offer refreshments, von Fehrenbach seated himself some distance away and said forbiddingly, "Yes, madame?"

Before answering, Helene spent a moment studying his face, feeling the tension that lay beneath his impassive expression. In a stab of self-doubt, she wondered if she might be wrong about the nature of that tension. Perhaps he really did make dark and dangerous plans to injure others. She was suddenly glad of the whistle in her reticule.

Not bothering with social niceties, she said bluntly, "There is a conspiracy to disrupt the peace conference by assassination. The accident that sent Castlereagh to his bed was in fact an attempt on his life, and Wellington may be die next target."

Von Fehrenbach's pale brows rose marginally. "Paris is rife with plots. What has that to do with me?"

Her hands locked in her lap, for what she was about to do was outrageous. "There is some reason to believe that you might be behind the conspiracy."

"What?" His calm shattered, the colonel bounded furiously to his feet. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing! What perversion of logic could lead anyone to suspect me?" With a flash of blue fire in his eyes, he added in a low, menacing whisper, "And why do I hear it from you, of all people?"

Helene remained still. "That is three questions, none of them simple to answer. If you will sit and listen for a few minutes, I will explain." As he hesitated, she added, "It is in your best interest to hear."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me, madame?"

"Not at all,
Colonel. What threat could I
possibly pose to you? You are one of the victors, a man of wealth and position, while I am only a widow from a defeated nation. If you are threatened, it is not by me." As he stood uncertainly, she added impatiently, "Come, surely you do not fear me. It will cost you nothing to listen."

He took a chair closer to Helene, saying so softly that she might have imagined the words, "In that you are wrong, Madame Sorel. I do fear you."

With dizzying relief she knew that she was right— that every exchange between them took place on more than one level. But before pursuing her own ends, she must attend to the business that had brought her here. "Considerable effort has gone into investigating this plot, and it was determined that you were one of a handful of possibilities who had the intelligence, skill, and motive to organize it."