The Orphan's Tale (54 page)

"
Am I only your friend, then, my darling?" she asked as he raised his hands to cover hers.

He did not answer her directly; she felt a light kiss against the sensitive spot where her throat joined her jaw.
"I love you," he said.

The words were a mere thread of sound; Elise could almost believe that she had imagined them.
Her lips curved in a mischievous smile. "Now say it again," she commanded, smiling up into his startled eyes.

Her smile was lost as he captured her mouth in an almost rough kiss that left her gasping for breath and straining him closer to her.

The force of their response left them shaken. They drew apart. She looked into his eyes and saw the passion that was in her own mirrored there. She ducked her face into his shoulder, suddenly shy, and a moment later his arms settled firmly around her and held her in an embrace that had nothing of passion and everything of tenderness.

"L
et me take you home now," he said shakily against her hair. "I have said too much. It's late and the night is getting cold, and I have a criminal to catch tomorrow. We can wait until I can speak with you properly."

She circled him with her arms and smiled against the knot of his cravat.
"Then speak to me soon, Paul," she said, tightening her embrace. "I have so much to say in return."

He smiled down at her and then gently set her from him and took her arm again.

Her mind had been alive with its new awareness; she formed the words he would say in her imagination and framed her own response. He was right: it could wait. Waiting would make it sweeter.

When they had returned to the Rose d'Or, she had surreptitiously tucked one of her handkerchiefs into the inside pocket of his coat, just for luck.
He had the next day to live through, after all...

             
**  **  **

Elise turned her head on her pillow and looked over at the porcelain clock that sat on the mantel of her bedroom.
Nine o'clock.

She gasped and threw back the covers.
Nine o'clock! And he was going to face Dracquet that day! She all but threw herself into her clothing, pinned up her hair, and hurried downstairs.

There was no sign of Paul.

"Where is M. l'Inspecteur?" she demanded of Marie. "Did he leave already?"

Marie had her arms full of empty glasses.
She set them on a table and said, "Yes, Mam'selle, he left at seven, as he usually does."

Gone, then.
And she hadn't had a chance to bid him farewell and Godspeed. What if he were killed?

It didn't bear thinking of.
Elise resolutely turned her thoughts aside. Now that she had found him, it was impossible that she would lose him. Fate would never be so cruel to her.

She went into the salon, where she had been darning stockings the night before.
She had written an important letter the night before, a letter to Charles refusing him finally and telling him that she had found another to love. It must be posted at once.

But it wasn
't in its place on the mantelpiece.

Elise frowned.
"Marie, have you seen a letter I left on the mantel?" she called.

Marie came into the room.
"The one addressed to M. de Saint-Légère?" she asked. "M. l'Inspecteur took it with him. He said he would send it in the official dispatch case for you. He said it would save expenses."

Elise quietly sat down to gaze unseeingly before her.
Oh Paul!
she thought.

AT THE PREFECTURE:

THE HUNTER SETS HIS SNARE

"Yes, I know the carriage is waiting," said Malet. "We have plenty of time yet, and I am drinking my chocolate and eating my bread as fast as I can." He smiled imperturbably upon his bodyguard and dipped the end of the small loaf of bread that was serving him as supper into his cup of thick, hot chocolate, held it there while the bread soaked up the chocolate, and then took a bite. "Why don't you go out and tell them that I will be out directly?" he asked after he had finished chewing.

The shy young man whom Count d
'Anglars had assigned to be Malet's bodyguard cast an awed eye over the ribbons and medals that brightened the dark blue and gold splendor of Malet's full dress uniform. He ducked his head when he saw that Malet had caught him gazing wide-eyed at the Plaque de Grand-Aigle of the Legion d'Honneur that blazed on his breast.

"
We have told them already, M. l'Inspecteur," he said. "They're awaiting your convenience." He paused, weighing the extent of his courage, and added, "And may I tell M. Chief Inspector that His Excellency's dinner party begins promptly at half past seven o'clock?"

Malet dipped the bread again and then looked up at his bodyguard.
"By all means, my dear Constable," he said cordially as he raised the chocolate-soaked bread to his lips. "Tell me anything you wish!"

The young man was not unnaturally smitten to silence.
Ever since he had first been assigned to serve as bodyguard to Chief Inspector Malet, he had had the uncomfortable, half-foolish feeling that he was about as effective a bodyguard for Malet as a rabbit might be for a tiger. He suspected, in fact, that Malet was more active guarding him than the other way around. He sat back in his chair with a sigh and began to twiddle his thumbs after a moment.

Malet eyed the busy thumbs and then nodded toward the corner of his desk.
"Since your hands are so idle, son," he said, "You can occupy them by recopying these orders for tomorrow's distribution. One copy for each arrondissement - and see that you write them in your fairest hand."

"
Yes, sir," said the young man, and bent his head over the papers.

Malet hid a smile as he watched for a moment and then returned his attention to the chocolate and the bread.
The chocolate was thick, rich and sweet, the bread was very fresh, with a heady smell of yeast to it. The dying sun lay in red stripes across the carpet; its warmth revived the rich scent of wool and beeswax.

Everything was set; it only remained to savor each moment as it came.
He watched his bodyguard dip his pen in the ink and set it to the paper before him. He could hear the nib scratching lightly across the paper as he closed his eyes. All was in readiness; he could watch the night unfold.

The bread was finished; Malet tilted the last of the chocolate down his throat, set the cup down, and rose.
"Now we're ready," he said as he took up his gold-braided, cocked hat and set it on his head.

The bodyguard came over with his evening cloak.
Malet let the young man help him don the garment, his mind flashing over a thousand considerations. "The carriage is ready, is it not?" he asked.

The bodyguard stared at him, but he was learning.
"Yes, Monsieur," he said. "I made inquiries."

"
Excellent," said Malet. He took his pistols from the inside pocket of his cloak, cast an attentive eye over them, and then replaced them.

He led the way out of his office and to the Boulevard du Palais entrance of the Prefecture, where the official carriage of the Prefect of Police awaited him.
He cast a critically approving eye over the arms of France painted on the side panels, then surveyed the team of horses, who stood quietly in harness.

"
We'll be driving to His Excellency's house at the Place Francois Ier this evening, Gerard," said Malet. "You know the address."

'Gerard', who happened to be a full Inspector with the 6th arrondissement, gathered the reins and said with the proper degree of woodenness,
"Yes, M. Chief Inspector."

"
Then let us leave at once," said Malet as he pulled on his gleaming white gloves. "We're disgracefully late."

"
Yes, sir," said 'Gerard'. He waited until Malet and his bodyguard were within the carriage, and the postilions were properly placed before whipping up the horses.

Inside the carriage, the bodyguard said,
"Sir - ?"

Malet, who was engaged in watching the grimy facade of the Hotel Dieu hospital passing by on the right, said,
"Hm?"

"
I told you we were late! Didn't you hear me? I - I am sorry I didn't say it louder - "

"
Oh, I am not hard of hearing," said Malet. "The time of my arrival at M. d'Anglars' dinner party is immaterial. There are other, more important matters afoot."

"
Sir?"

"
Never mind," said Malet. "You'll understand shortly. Whatever happens, you are to continue to His Excellency's house and report to him. Do you understand me?"

The bodyguard nodded.

"Good," said Malet with a smile. "You'll do." The clatter of the horses' hooves altered slightly as they crossed the Pont Notre Dame and turned left on the Quai des Gesvres. The carriage picked up speed.

They were approaching the Place du Chatelet.
Malet rapped smartly on the ceiling of the carriage. After a second, there was an answering knock from the roof.

"
Very good," Malet said softly as he gathered himself and rose.

"
I beg your pardon?" said the bodyguard.

Malet smiled at the young man and said,
"Tell His Excellency that everything is going well."

"S
ir?"

"
I told you before: you'll understand in two seconds," Malet said. He opened the carriage door and looked out.

"
M. l'Inspecteur!" gasped the bodyguard as he leaned across Malet to slam the door shut. A sturdy shove to the breastbone forced him back against the upholstered seat.

"
You worry too much," said Malet over his shoulder. He frowned out the open door and tensed, his hands braced against the frame of the carriage door. They had crossed the Place du Chatelet, where the old prison had once stood, and were following the Rue Saint Denis north toward the sharp left turn onto the Rue de Rivoli. The juncture, usually congested at best, was crowded with carriages hurrying toward the Comedie-Francaise.

"
I am leaving you," said Malet. "You'll continue on to His Excellency's house and do the Force proud. I understand that there will be dancing, and M. le Comte has no doubt assigned you a charming lady for a dinner partner."

"
But what - ?"

"
You'll hear all about it tomorrow," Malet said.

"
But you can't - "

"
I certainly can," said Malet with a smile. "I am pulling rank right now. Don't worry: no one will blame you, even if I break my neck. Now good evening, and have a good time!"

The carriage had been bowling along at a smart trot as Malet spoke; he stepped out the doorway just as they passed a tangle of dark carriages.
The bodyguard threw himself forward as the door banged shut.

"
Stop!" he shouted. He opened the door and peered down at the cobblestones that seemed to spin away beneath the wheels of the carriage. The sight made him desperately dizzy. He pulled the door shut and collapsed against the seat. He heard the coachman crack the whip over the horses' heads; their speed increased. He sank back against the seat with a groan.

             
**  **  **

Larouche watched the carriage pull away from the Prefecture.
He had no intention of being anywhere near Dracquet's house that night, but he had wanted to see Monseigneur set out for the kill. It had been worth the wait, he decided as the coach drew away.

He approved of the disguise; anyone shadowing Monseigneur would think that the man really was going to a party.
Everything would be fine. He could go back to the stable where he was staying at the moment and sleep safe in the knowledge that Dracquet's days were numbered.

ROSALIE PLESSIS' DIAGRAM

PROVES TO BE OF SOME USE

Malet leveled his field-glasses at Dracquet's mansion. "The house is dark and I have seen no movement for the past hour," he said. "We're ready to go in." The night was warm; he had doffed his gold-braided bicorne and evening cloak, but he still wore a Chief Inspector's full-dress uniform. The moon glinted upon the medals at his chest and flashed from the gold embroidery at his scarlet collar and cuffs.

He lowered the field glasses and checked his watch.
"Eight-fifteen," he said thoughtfully. "They have had plenty of time to get their business well underway."

He turned to the National Guard Colonel standing beside him.
"Your men have your orders: stop anyone who tries to pass your lines. Please take your position now."

"
Very good, Inspector," answered the colonel, an old friend from Malet's army days. He snapped a jaunty salute and left.

Malet's smile was perfunctory.
"As for you, Chief Constable: your men are clear on their orders?"