What a Hero Dares (23 page)

“I only know the answer to one of those questions. The bed doesn’t fit entirely against the wall—no, I don’t know why. I stepped behind it, as I’ve been doing since I was a child, and then climbed up to the canopy. I don’t fit as well there as I used to, and nearly got myself stuck, which would have been a predicament, wouldn’t it? And before you ask, I’d planned to leap down on top of Boucher, all unexpectedly, and disarm him.”

They were both busily diving back into their clothes.

“Disarm him? You’d probably have frightened him to death. Did you also leap off roofs as a child?”

“Only the one,” he said, grabbing her by the waist to give her a kiss. “You do realize what we’ve got in the makings here, don’t you? A bloodless coup.” He kissed her again, but then frowned. “Or something close to that. Come on, let’s find out. Captain! You can come back in now.”

“I’m not completely buttoned,” Zoé complained, turning her back to him.

“One or two may be missing.”

Zoé kicked a few bits of clothing neither had bothered with beneath the bed, and then quickly retreated to a couch and small grouping of chairs arranged between two of the large windows. Just before Anton and the captain walked into the room.

She knew it was the captain because she, like Max, had recognized his voice, but that was the only part of him she recognized beyond his tall, slim frame. His hair was gray, to match the beard on his face, and he wore a black patch over his left eye. He walked slowly, his shoulders stooped, making full use of the cane in his right hand.

A sword cane, she had no doubt.

Max remained where he was, one of his pistols tucked into his breeches, his concentration all on Anton.

“Please, Captain,” she said solicitously, “you should join me here on the couch.”

“He should fall down a deep well filled with rabid bats,” Anton Boucher said bitterly. “He’s no older than I am, aren’t you,
Black Ghost?
”

“Amusing man,” the captain remarked, splitting his black coattails before sitting down beside Zoé.

“Someone from your past, Captain?” Max asked at last.

“Something not necessary to the moment, Mr. Redgrave. Suffice it to say our Sous-Lieutenant Boutilier here has seen a year’s duty in Haiti, where he made quite a reputation for himself, most especially with the ladies. Not a very good reputation. He barely escaped one encounter with his life, and set sail back to France before certain parties could dole out the justice they believed he deserved. Imagine my surprise in seeing him early this morning, as he was brought to my attention by one of my men, who spied him riding rather recklessly across the Marsh, running toward or most probably from somewhere. Anton Boucher. Sous-Lieutenant Anton Boutilier. One and the same. We had ourselves a pleasant chat, and then struck a deal between us.”

Finally, Max took a seat. “What sort of deal? You don’t pull his backside out through his mouth if he cooperates with us?”

“Something like that, yes. Boutilier, or should I say Boucher—it’s time the bird sang its little song.”

Anton’s bottom jaw moved left and right, his lips tightly pursed. At first, Zoé didn’t think he would say anything, but then he seemed to realize that, between Max and the captain, he really had no other choice.

“What do you want to know?” Anton asked.

Max leaned his elbows on his knees. “I suppose you could begin by telling us where in hell you were going when the captain’s men saw you.”

“Away,” he answered, shrugging. “West, north, anywhere that wasn’t here. I know when to cut my losses, Max. France? Not while Bonaparte remains in power, certainly. Remain here, watching the woman destroy everything we could have had? No, I wouldn’t even live long enough to watch her fail.”

“You’re a pathetic little worm, aren’t you, Anton?” Zoé said, feeling some sort of weight lifted off her shoulders. “You murdered your own nephew in your supposed great
cause,
and then abandon that cause as if Georges’s death meant nothing to you.”

“It didn’t, you stupid cow. He was no more my nephew than your captain here is a gentleman. He believed he was my partner. The way I heard it, your friend here double-crossed his pirate partner, killed off half his own men and their wives and kiddies before—”

The cane the captain had been resting in his hands came down on the back of the Frenchman’s head, and he slid to the floor without another sound.

“That’s too bad,” the captain said blandly. “Five minutes’ time, and in hopes of swaying you to his side, he violated our agreement. You do understand he belongs to me now. Or, should I say, a certain man in my crew who has spent this last decade or more searching for justice.”

“Only once he tells us what he knows,” Max said. “Unless that cane of yours cracked his skull.”

“Merely dented it. Is there some place you may be able to put him until I leave? He’s already told me what he knows.”

Max looked at Zoé, who knew what he wanted, but was still too amazed at what she felt as she stared at the unconscious form of Anton Boucher to be able to find her voice.

“I don’t want him,” she said at last. “He’s taken enough from us, Max. He can’t give us back anything we lost and, killing him, we’d only lose more.” She smiled at the captain, this man who had been so many things, but now seemed only to want to be left alone.

“It’s nearly over, isn’t it? Anton gone, leaving no way for the Exalted Leader to communicate with the emperor. No invasion, no overthrow of the monarchy. Nothing but French soldiers and mercenaries awaiting orders and meeting your men instead. Please, tell us what he told you about the woman.”

* * *

M
AX
STOOD
UP
and shook the captain’s hand. “And now you can have him, sir. With our thanks and compliments. He means nothing to us anymore.”

* * *

M
AX
DIDN
’
T
KNOW
what methods the captain had used, and certainly hadn’t asked, to have convinced Anton to be so forthcoming. Although Zoé had said she imagined all he’d had to do was introduce himself before the Frenchman offered him anything he wanted.

The best thing they’d learned was the location of the Coopers, and anyone else the woman had coerced, bribed, blackmailed or otherwise convinced to follow the Society.

The Coopers hadn’t been expecting a failure in London with the attempt on Trixie’s life. Angus’s grandson, known for being fleet of foot, was to have struck quickly, and just as quickly run away, so that nobody would know his identity. But plans fail, and someone like their leader, someone so convinced anything she did was destined for success, don’t make provisions for failure.

They’d been forced to gather up their belongings and run. Quickly, without direction. The women to one place, the men to another, to await further orders, and only a few allowed to remain with the woman, only those few she considered her best, the most loyal.

With Gideon in the lead, along with Valentine and Simon, even Kate and the persistent Trixie, the Redgraves had already ridden off to Newington in the hope of salvaging something of their lives at Redgrave Manor, to bring some of their people home.

People follow crowds, Trixie had told them, and crowds often turn into mobs, but at the end of the day most of them are left wondering
what am I doing here?

Max hoped she was right.

He and Zoé also hoped Anton hadn’t been lying to them about the conditions at the ruins, or how many protectors the Exalted Leader had convinced victory could still be theirs. Even after Anton’s defection, the probable loss of French help.

They’d made their way across the dark field, hiding behind the hedgerows until forced to leave their cover and make a mad dash into the copse.

They met no resistance. There were no sentries, no sign of anyone when they located the flat, hidden door beside the largest tree in the copse. The door Anton had sworn led down to the chambers.

Maybe they were gone. Maybe they were all gone.

“Are you ready?” he asked her as he slipped his left hand through a rusted iron ring, one of his pistols gripped in the right. “On three?”

Zoé nodded, and Max counted silently before yanking open the heavy oak door and pointed the pistol down the stone steps that had always led to the cellars below the house.

First the root cellar, and then a door beyond it. Through that and you’re there.

That’s what the captain had told them, and so far, it seemed his information was correct.

Max took out his flint while Zoé extracted a candle from her boot, and soon they had at least a bit of light to guide them. There was nothing in the root cellar other than the smell of ancient vegetables now more like stone, and still covered in ashes from the long-ago fire.

Nothing else but another door.

This one showed light beneath it.

Zoé pointed to it and Max nodded, yes, he’d seen it. He’d also seen something else, and crouched down to run his gloved hand beneath the door before standing up again to show her what he’d found. It was mostly dry, and sticky when he touched thumb to fingertips, but nobody could mistake what it was.

“Blood?” She leaned in and sniffed at the substance, and then looked at him apprehensively. “Yes, that’s blood. And it’s fairly fresh. What—?”

He pulled her away from the door. “It opens the other way. I think it could be at least partially barred, though—with a body. Something’s happened in there, Zoé. Something Anton didn’t share with us.”

“He doesn’t like leaving anyone behind when he decides it’s time to move on,” she offered. “Do you suppose he’s killed them all? How would he have done that? He said there were at least ten men protecting her.”

“Another lie. It has to be, with just enough truth mixed in to keep us guessing.” He wiped his glove against his breeches. “Stay here, and hold this,” he said, handing her the pistol. “I’m going to put my shoulder to the door and see how far it goes.”

“Be careful.” He smiled at her. She’d never said that to him before.
Eyes open. Watch for a hidden knife. Follow me.
Yes, that was her favorite.
Follow me
.

“I will, sweetheart,” he told her solemnly. “I’ll do my very best. But...but if the worst were to happen, please—remember me.”

“I could cheerfully murder you myself right now,” she shot back, but then smiled. “Oh, go on—go. Or do you want to follow me?”

He kissed her, let her push him away and then approached the door once more. When he put his shoulder against it, the thing moved easily enough, at least as far as to allow him access, but then came up against something that stopped it.

There was enough candlelight to make out his surroundings, so he first checked to make certain there was no one else in what looked to be some sort of antechamber, and then stepped through the opening, waving for Zoé to follow with the candle.

“Scarlet,” he told her as they both looked down at the face of his own father, although the man’s eyes were closed and he couldn’t know their color, and his skin had already turned a sickly shade of gray.

The blood Max had seen first—and there was a lot more on this side of the door—had come from at least a dozen knife slashes on the naked body, and one large, clearly fatal slice to the man’s throat.

Zoé bent over the body, holding the candle. “Yes, that’s him, or what’s left of him. The man I saw in Ostend. Anton?”

“I think it would have to be. Look, our Scarlet is a tall man and obviously strong. He would have been weakened by all these cuts, but I can’t believe a woman like you described would have been strong enough to half sever the poor bastard’s neck.”

Zoé nodded before holding up the candle and moving farther into the antechamber. “This can’t be the main chamber. Only a few bits of furniture and these candles. Most are burned out and the rest won’t last much longer. I don’t think anyone’s been here for hours. Do you see another door?”

To help answer her question, he lifted one of the wooden holders containing a still burning candle, and began walking the perimeter of the room.

On the third wall, his fingertips encountered a long, slim opening. He held the candle to it and its flame was disturbed by air coming out through the wall.

He whistled a quick, soft birdcall to attract Zoé’s attention. She seemed to have been distracted by something she’d found inside a cabinet he believed he recognized as one that had once been in the main saloon at the Manor. They’d probably furnished the whole place by raiding the Manor attics.

“Found it,” he said when Zoé joined him. “What do you have there?”

“I’m not sure. I used the stiletto to destroy the lock, and this was the only thing inside. It looks like some sort of journal, but it’s too dark to actually read it.”

“God’s teeth, just what we need, another damn journal. Do they never become tired of recounting their exploits?”

She opened the journal and held it closer to her eyes. “Is that what’s in here?
Exploits?
”

“Just close it, Zoé. We’ll take it with us when we leave. But you’re not reading it.”

“I don’t have any intention or interest in reading it. Neither should you. Or anyone.”

“Do I say
amen
now? Believe me, sweetheart, none of us wants to read any more journals, but if we don’t find our Exalted Leader, we may have to. I’ve located the handle. This one also opens into whatever’s behind it. Ready?”

Once again she held up the candle, and once again he put his shoulder to a door.

When he picked himself up after the damn thing opened as if the hinges had been greased only that morning, it was to see something he’d never wanted to see in his lifetime.

He saw, having heard Simon’s description of the ceremonial rooms that had once existed beneath the dower house, what had to be a pale imitation of the obscenely beautiful chamber that had been home to two generations of perversion.

There were capes lying everywhere, as if discarded in haste, and strange, large masks that would cover an entire head lined up on shelves.