Vintage Love (66 page)

“Put them by the hearth, if you will,” she directed.

He limped inside and placed the logs accordingly. He nodded to Kemble in a friendly manner and then limped back to the door. Instead of leaving the chamber, he closed the door and stood with his back to it.

Enid felt a moment of panic. Kemble looked outraged and jumped to his feet.

The roguish driver smiled and removed his red cap. Then he addressed them in a voice that was both melodious and cultured. “Let me now introduce myself. I am Count Pierre Giraud, formerly of Nantes.”

“Confound you!” Kemble cried in astonishment. “You are not what you seem!”

Giraud smiled again. “Like you, Mr. Kemble of London’s Drury Lane, I am dutifully playing a role.”

“I can’t believe it!” Enid gasped. “You’re a gentleman!”

The count bowed. “At least a remembrance of one. You must pardon my filthy state and my unfortunate beard. I have had to assume this identity or risk being put to death by the revolutionists. In truth, I find the alternative rather appealing. Occasionally I meet some interesting guests from England, such as yourself, Lady Blair, and Mr. Kemble.”

“You know all about us, then!” the actor exclaimed. “What is your game, sir? Do you plan to blackmail us?”

The count laughed softly. “Do you still not understand, Mr. Kemble? The captain of police was your contact. And I am the second link in the chain which will see you safely installed in Paris.”

“Good Lord!” Kemble’s face drained of color. “And I think of myself as an actor! You played your part to perfection!”

“We were alternately disgusted with and terrified of you,” Enid confessed.

Giraud grinned. “My own continual terror never allows me to drop my assumed identity for a moment. One false move and I’m finished. That is why I waited so long to reveal myself to you.”

“We are greatly relieved,” Enid said with a rueful smile.

“Indeed we are,” Kemble agreed in a more normal tone of voice. “We were ready to believe that Sir Harry had sent us on a mad, pointless chase!”

“You are speaking of a great man,” the count said with respect, “but one who is ruthless and devious when he has to be. He has a fine mind, and he has saved many noble heads from the block.”

“Do you know Gustav Brideau?” she asked.

He nodded. “Also of the underground. He is in Lyons now on a delicate mission.”

“And Armand Beaufaire,” she continued hopefully. “What can you tell us of him?”

“He is a man of supreme integrity. He was captured some months ago by the enemy.”

“We heard he was in prison. Do you know where he is?”

“Not at the moment. He had been confined outside Calais, but I understand he’s been moved to Paris.”

She felt her heart skip a beat. “That could be most dangerous for him, could it not?”

“There is no point in deceiving you,” Giraud replied. “He could even have been executed by now. If he is still alive, he is surely in constant danger.”

“Why doesn’t Sir Harry do something to save him?” she cried.

“Because there are more urgent matters to attend to,” Pierre answered simply.

“You mean the Dauphin?” Kemble asked.

“You two were sent here to pick him up and take him back to England. You know that as well as I do.”

Enid nodded. “Of course. How is the boy? Is he still in good hands?”

“As far as we know. Things change from day to day, but supposedly he is hidden in a monastery somewhere in Paris. Father Braun is looking out for him. You will receive the lad from the good father.”

“Why couldn’t you do this?” Kemble wanted to know. “Why did Sir Harry have to recruit us for this mission?”

“Because the Dauphin is too important to be moved to England through the regular channels. You will escort him there as the son of your missing English friend, and by doing it quite openly, you won’t be questioned.”

“I did not realize that was the plan,” Enid said.

“It is all arranged. Witnesses will swear to the lad’s being hers and that she died in the attack on Versailles. You have been appointed his guardian. Since he is half English and a mere boy, the authorities will not be interested in your taking him.”

“But what if they find out he is Louis Charles, escaped from prison?” Kemble demanded. “What will happen to us should the truth be discovered?”

The count shrugged. “Either you’ll be torn to bits by the mob, along with the prince, or you’ll be captured and tortured. The same is true for all of us. It is a dangerous profession that we practice.”

“Will we reach Paris by tomorrow night?” Enid asked. “I do not wish to lose any time. I want to find the Dauphin and then try to do something for Count Beaufaire.”

Giraud searched her face. “Did Sir Harry give you permission to take on anything of that nature?”

“Only after we locate the prince,” Kemble replied.

“Then I wouldn’t consider that possibility until then,” the count advised.

“I see,” Enid murmured, wondering if her beloved Armand would be executed before she could do anything to facilitate his release.

“I will go now,” their driver said. “We leave at dawn, and it will be another hard day’s ride.”

“Will you continue to play your role?” Kemble asked.

“But of course. And you must do the same. Treat me with the contempt you have shown thus far. It could mean all our necks if we don’t abide by the rules. Au revoir until the morning, then.” The count flashed the loose grin of his driver’s disguise and departed.

Enid turned to Kemble and asked, “Don’t you agree that we sorely underestimated Sir Harry?”

“Without question,” he told her with a wry smile. “And now, my dearest Enid, I shall bid you good night.”

Enid was then left alone to brood before the dying embers. Will I ever see Armand again? she asked herself. Will we ever know the happiness we shared—oh, so long ago!—and be as one?

The silence of the chamber was her only response.

They reached Paris the next evening. Enid was amazed to discover that it seemed less impressive to her now than London. It was still a relatively medieval city, with narrow, winding, muddy streets, small wooden houses, and a few splendid buildings, such as the Ecole Militaire. Apart from its lack of charm and refinement, it bore the ravages of the current upheaval and was severely overcrowded.

The trip had been slightly easier that day, perhaps because Enid and Kemble were more relaxed. They had made their contact and all was going well. Giraud took them through a series of mean streets before halting in front of a ramshackle wooden building not far from the Seine.

He opened the carriage door and said, “This is the place, good people! This is where you asked that I bring you!”

Since they hadn’t asked to be taken to any particular address, Enid assumed that this was where Sir Harry intended them to stay and where they would meet their new contact.

Kemble alighted first and then eased her down onto the mud-splashed cobblestones. “Paris is not so clean a city as London,” he remarked.

“I fear you are a trifle prejudiced,” she replied.

Giraud lifted their luggage off the rack atop the coach and laboriously carried the cases into the house. Then a blowzy-looking woman wearing a dust cap and a shapeless coverall came out with a boy of about five or six. The child held on to her hand with a strange look in his eyes, and Enid, feeling a pang of sympathy, decided that he was probably retarded.

The woman spoke in a harsh voice. “If my useless husband wasn’t running with the mob, I wouldn’t be taking in lodgers. Not English folk, anyway!”

“We are delighted to avail ourselves of your hospitality, madam,” Kemble told her graciously.

The coarse-faced woman sniffed at him. “There’s little of that left in this country, I can tell you! And none at all for the English! If I weren’t forced to take you in, I don’t know where you’d go!”

“I’m sure we are grateful,” Enid said as they entered the hallway. “But won’t you show us to our rooms? My father and I are most weary from our long journey.”

“Most weary, indeed!” the woman retorted mockingly. “Well, you had best be prepared for plain beds and plain food. I have only one girl to help me, and I have never enjoyed cooking. Any fancy food you require will be extra!”

With that the child began to cry, and she gave him a slap and sent him running toward the back of the house. Then she took them up to their rooms. The only good thing about them, it seemed, was that they were clean and adjoining. But when Enid tested her bed, she knew it would be like sleeping on a board.

The woman stood before her lodgers with arms akimbo. “It’s no use your sticking your nose up. This is the best you’ll get in Paris these days. All the good places are serving as headquarters for the glorious republicans.” She rolled her eyes heavenward.

“We shall manage,” Enid told her. “What about food?”

“There is no proper dining room. I’ll send up a tray with your evening meal. And at breakfast I’ll do the same.”

“That will do splendidly, thank you,” Kemble said. “We are very hungry. What are you serving?”

“Calves’ brains,” the woman replied. “And hard enough to come by!”

Kemble looked as if he might choke. “Is that the only choice?”

“I told you this isn’t a regular hotel!” the landlady snapped. “You can take what I offer or leave it! It’s all the same to me!” And back downstairs she went.

“What do you think?” Kemble asked Enid.

“We seem to have jumped from frying pan to fire,” she sighed, “though this woman could be another agent.”

“Never,” he declared angrily. “We’re simply stuck with an uncouth landlady, thanks to Sir Harry.”

“If all goes well, we ought to make contact soon with Father Braun. Then he might find us another place to stay.”

They began to unpack, feeling sorry for themselves all the while. A scrawny girl-of-all-work came upstairs shortly thereafter with a tray in her hands. She set it on a table in Enid’s room and vanished. A few minutes later Kemble appeared through the adjoining doorway and sat down with Enid.

After she had sampled the food, she said, “It is really very good.”

The actor grunted and began to attack his plate. To his surprise, he liked the dish better than he had expected to. “Just so long as you don’t dwell on what it is,” he told her.

When they finished dinner, they remained in Enid’s room, waiting to see what would transpire next. Nearly a half hour had passed before the servant girl presented herself, curtsied, and said, “The owner would like to see you now.” She jerked her head. “Down there.”

Kemble gave the lass an impatient glance as she flounced out. “What can that woman want from us?” he asked Enid.

“She may have decided not to take English people after all. Who knows what she’s up to?”

The actor rose, grumbling. “Giraud vanished while we were standing in the hallway. He was there beside me, and when I turned around, he was nowhere.”

“I have an idea he didn’t wish to answer more of our questions.”

“We still have a few answers coming to us, and I intend to get them.”

They left the chamber and made their way down the dark, rickety stairs.

Enid was ahead of him, so she went through the doorway of the parlor first but saw no one there. Only after a few moments did she notice smoke rising from behind a folding screen in a corner of the room. She knew it wasn’t a fire, but someone smoking.

“What now?” Kemble muttered.

She nodded toward the screen.

He scowled. “Are you behind there, woman? What do you want with us?”

By way of an answer, the screen was suddenly folded and put aside. The sight that greeted Enid and Kemble made them both gasp. The five-year-old was smoking a clay pipe and staring at them with disgust!

In a squeaky voice he asked, “Didn’t you ever see someone smoke a pipe before?”

A man was standing quietly by the smoker’s side. “They aren’t ones for surprises, Ramon,” he said.

“Made idiots of again!” Kemble cried. “You, sir, are the landlady whom we first talked to when we arrived! And this creature smoking a pipe is not your stupid child but a midget!”

“How did you guess, Englishman?” The midget gave a sour laugh.

“Your disguises are incredibly good!” Enid exclaimed. “I would never have seen through them!”

The man came forward good-naturedly. “I am Renaud. My feminine alter ego and a five-year-old child can venture into many places where Ramon and I would otherwise attract attention.”

Ramon moved toward them, pipe in hand. “I’ll have you know I’m no ordinary midget. Before the revolution I was one of King Louis’s secret agents.”

“Then you must know Louis Esmond,” Enid said.

“Esmond!” The midget uttered the name with contempt. “He is scum! Pure scum!”

Renaud explained. “Esmond had never been a secret agent until the revolutionists took over. Before that he was a soldier, an actor, and an ordinary policeman.”

“I encountered him in London,” Enid told them.

“Beware of the fellow!” Ramon warned her. “He is all-powerful here. A word from him, and your head won’t have any need for a neck!”

“This house is shabby, but it provides an ideally safe place for our headquarters,” Renaud said. “And I trust you didn’t find my cooking too bad, did you?”

Enid smiled. “It was very good indeed.”

“What next?” Kemble wanted to know.

Ramon gave out another of his high-pitched laughs. “The old man is champing at the bit for action!”

Kemble glared down at him. “I’m not as old as you think. You’re not the only one capable of devising disguises!”

“No quarreling, gentlemen,” Renaud urged softly. “We are all in this together. One large, happy family.”

“What about the Dauphin?” Enid asked him.

“It is my hope that you will return here later tonight with the lad in your possession. And that by tomorrow you’ll be traveling back to Calais with our mutual friend, Pierre.”

“I’m not sure I’m equal to that trip again,” Kemble grunted with a shake of his head.

“It’s the only safe way out of Paris,” Renaud told him. “And now to business. I have an address here, only about ten minutes’ walk away, where you should find Father Braun and the prince.”