Chapter 12
Twilight was falling by the time Damien returned home. He was not in the best of humor, having spent the afternoon trying to convince General Drayton to leave the arrest of Madame du Barré to him and his men. The General thought that since Damien had captured Madame ’s courier, he no longer needed to involve himself in the case. Damien, on the other hand, was not content to allow the matter to be taken out of his hands so easily. He knew Madame ’s wily tricks and trusted no one but himself to bring her to justice. The argument had ended in a stalemate.
Besides being overruled by his commander, the woman he had under house arrest had deceived him, betrayed him. She was the daughter of the man who had killed his brother. She was the woman who fired his blood, made his heart race. She was the woman who haunted his dreams.
She could be a traitor.
And then he had received that urgent summons from Edward to return home with no explanation. His mood had never been so black. When he found no guard at either the gate or the front door, his temper boiled over. Something had happened in his absence, something he did not want to hear. Leftenant Johnson met him in the foyer as he walked in the door.
“Edward, what the devil is going on?” he demanded harshly. “Where are the guards? Why is there no one on duty?”
Edward Johnson cleared his throat nervously and walked to the door of the salon. “I think you had better come in here, sir,” he told Damien with unaccustomed formality. He opened the door as proper protocol for a lower-ranked officer for his commander.
Damien glared at him. As he entered the room, all his men jumped to attention. His eyes narrowed dangerously. He had taught his men never to come to attention when he walked into their midst. It had been too dangerous for any remnant of army etiquette to appear while they had been in France.
Damien sat on the arm of a chair and looked at Johnson. “All right, Leftenant,” he said quietly, holding his temper in tight check. “Perhaps you had better tell me what this is all about.”
Johnson picked up a note from a nearby table and handed it to Damien. “I think you’d better read this, sir.”
As Damien took the note from Johnson, he realized his men were still standing at attention. “Dammit, sit down!” he barked. They immediately complied.
He had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. The feeling became worse when he read the note Jessica had left behind. How did Madame know that he had Jessica under arrest in his home? Someone had to have given her that information. But who?
What Jessica had not known was that he had placed guards on her not only to keep her from trying to escape from him, but also to keep her safe from Madame. He had expected the woman to try to get to Jessica, and through her, to him. He had been proven correct. But he had not expected it to happen in his house. And that did not absolve his men for allowing it to happen. He ran his gaze around the room, meeting the eyes of each of his men.
“Do you mean to tell me, gentlemen, that one rather tiny woman outwitted four of the best men in His Majesty’s Army?” he asked scathingly. There was no answer, only an uncomfortable shuffling of feet. “How did she get away?” he demanded.
Johnson answered. “She slipped past Walker with the help of a maid—Lucy. The same girl who gave her the note. We questioned her, but all she did was cry and say how sorry she was, and that the Lady Jessica said it was a matter of life or death.” He took a breath. “We tried to follow the lady—”
“But you lost her,” Damien finished.
“Yes, sir,” Johnson answered. He shifted uncomfortably.
Damien did not berate his leftenant for the failure. The man already felt guilty enough. Nor did he waste time castigating Walker for failing his guard duty at the bedroom door. Instead, his mind focused on Jessica. She had been clever to deceive his men. He rose and walked to the French doors, most likely the ones through which Jessica had made her escape. Staring blindly out into the darkness, he crushed the note in his hand. How could she fall for such a ruse? Didn’t she realize what a crafty, dangerous woman Madame du Barré was? Fear for Jessica’s safety threatened to overwhelm him before he squelched it. Now was not the time to allow his feelings to interfere with what he had to do. He stood lost in thought.
A knock at the door of the salon drew him from his musing. He was about to tell whoever it was that he was not to be disturbed when his mother pushed open the door.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Grace,” she said.
She only used the formal manner of addressing him when she had something serious to say.
“I believe you might wish to speak with this young woman.” The duchess stepped aside to reveal the maid, Lucy.
Damien’s brow crinkled in bewilderment. “Shouldn’t Jacobs be dealing with her?”
His mother shook her head. “This is not for our butler.”
“Go on, girl. Tell ’im,” Mistress Donlin said from behind Lucy and gave the girl a push into the room.
Lucy shook, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I-I’m s-s-so s-sorry, Your Grace.” She gulped and twisted her apron in her hands. “She-she promised me a-a new frock.”
Mistress Donlin tsked.
“Who offered you a new frock?” Damien asked, a cold feeling of dread taking hold of him.
“Th-the F-french lady in the park.” Lucy sniffed.
“Madame du Barré.” Damien spoke the name as if it were a curse. He felt his men’s attention focus on the maid. Anger surged through him that his men had failed to get the truth from the maid. His house had been invaded by a spy. “Tell me everything.”
“She s-said all I had to do was deliver a note to the Lady Jessica. She said you wouldn’t mind. I’m so sorry!” Lucy bawled into her apron.
Mistress Donlin grabbed Lucy by the arm and shook her. “Quiet, you silly baggage.”
Damien watched Lucy and a suspicion formed. “Did the French lady ever ask you to do anything else?”
Lucy’s eyes widened guilessly and her tears stopped. “Oh, no, Your Grace.”
He did not believe her. His gaze met his mother’s. “How did you discover this?”
“Mistress Donlin overheard the girl telling one of the other maids about the frock and other fine things she would soon acquire,” the duchess said.
Damien gave a nod to Jessica’s nanny. “Thank you, Mistress Donlin.” He turned his attention back to the maid. “I should arrest you, Lucy.”
“Oh, no, Your Grace!” Lucy began to bawl again. “I promise I won’t ever speak to that French lady again.”
Grimly, silently, Damien agreed. If everything fell into place, that “French lady” would be in an English prison very soon. But first he had to save Jessica. He had no time to deal with the foolishly greedy and hysterical housemaid.
Turning to his mother, he said, “I think Jacobs should handle this.”
His mother sent him a little smile. “I thought the same.”
Jacobs would dismiss the girl and make her feel fortunate that she had not been sent to prison and grateful to get references.
With a regal nod to his men, the duchess said, “Gentlemen.” Then she turned and sailed out of the room with Mistress Donlin following, holding a firm grip on Lucy.
“Blimey,” Walker said when the door had shut behind the ladies. “A traitor in your own house, beggin’ your pardon, sir.”
Damien raised an eyebrow at Walker, for he had been the one guarding Jessica’s door and had been fooled by Lucy. The young soldier ducked his head and a flush colored his neck.
Damien said nothing further, for his mind was already on the confrontation with Madame. Determination to save Jessica wiped out every other thought and emotion.
“It seems, gentlemen,” he said, “that Madame du Barré has played her trump card. By using one of the maids in my household to take the Lady Jessica, she has nothing else to do but run for the coast. She’ll want to lure us to France. I believe she has played right into our hands.”
“How has she done that, sir?” Wells, the youngest of his men asked.
“She will have to come out into the open to make her escape, Wells,” Damien answered. “We will capture her, retrieve the Lady Jessica, and then lay Le Chat to rest.”
There was a general murmuring as the men approved of Damien’s plan.
“Aren’t we going to break into the gaming house, sir?” Higgins asked.
Damien shook his head. “I would like to, but it would be foolhardy to try. The house is built like a fortress. The walls are twice as thick as an ordinary house, and the doors are strong enough to secure a vault. We would never be able to get in, find the Lady Jessica, and escape with our lives—or hers.” Dropping the note on a nearby table, he went on, “I suggest that we discuss this over dinner. We can do nothing but wait until Madame sends word to us regarding her demands. When that happens, we may not get another meal for a long time.”
Resigned, his men dispersed to change for dinner.
As he watched them file out, Damien vowed, one way or another, he would get Jessica back.
As soon as his men reconvened about the dining table, Damien explained his plan.
“Madame will send word to us that she has the Lady Jessica, for I am sure she expects us to follow. As soon as she does that, she will begin her escape to France, but not too quickly. She does not want to lose us. She would prefer to have us catch up with her on French soil. It would be a victory for her if she could capture us as spies, instead of the other way around.
“I assume she has more than one escape route to France. We know of at least two. One of them was from the beach at Montaigne’s house. She won’t use that one. Now that we know of it, it’s too risky. She must have another somewhere around Dover, that she uses when she is pressed for time.” He glanced around the table at his men. “Any other ideas where she might cross?”
“Someplace in Cornwall, sir,” Higgins offered. “Smugglers land in those coves as if they were free ports.”
Damien nodded. “You are probably right, Higgins, but Cornwall is too far away for Madame’s purposes. Remember she has a hostage with her. She would have us on her trail for too long. She couldn’t risk us overtaking her.”
“If I were her,” Johnson said thoughtfully, “I’d head for Dover. It’s the quickest way out of England and closest to France. More people would be travelling on the road, more witnesses so she could leave a visible trail for us to follow.”
“That seems to be the logical way for her to run,” Damien agreed. “Something tells me, however, that she will not do the logical thing. I don’t think we should trust to luck on this. Higgins, I want you to watch Madame’s house. When they leave, follow them to the edge of the city and observe which road they take. Then wait for us there. Wells, go with him. When Madame leaves her house, come back and let us know. We must be quick to follow. I will wait here with Johnson and Walker for Madame’s message that she has the Lady Jessica. Any questions?”
“Suppose she has already left for France?” Wells asked morosely. “Suppose she doesn’t want us to follow?”
Damien had already thought of this, but had tried not to dwell on it. If it were true and Madame reached France secretly, then any chance of ever finding Jessica was lost. Despite his anger and mistrust, he could not bear thinking about never seeing her again.
He answered, “We have to assume that Madame has not done that. I truly don’t believe she has. Madame wants me to follow her. She has a score to settle with me for fouling up her plans. We have to work on the assumption that she will be trying to lure us to France so that we may be captured as spies. For that reason, we will have to be very alert if we wish to come out of this alive.” He glanced around the table. “Any other comments?” There were none. “All right, gentlemen, you know what you have to do.”
The men dispersed to their various duties: Higgins and Wells to change from their uniforms to their less conspicuous peasant garb and then to leave to watch Madame’s; Johnson and Walker to change and ready the horses and other gear they would need. Damien remained at the table for some time, hoping that he was correct in his assumptions, hoping that Jessica had not been harmed, that he would find her safe and be able to free her from Madame’s clutches. Finally, he rose from the table and went to transform himself into Le Chat. He hoped he had guessed correctly.
Jessica returned to consciousness very slowly. She became aware of lying on a bed long before she was able to open her eyes. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if they were glued shut, and her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. Several moments passed as her mind cleared of its fog and she remembered where she was.
When she tried to move, a sharp pain made her realize her arms had been pulled above her head and her wrists had been tied to the bedpost. Moving her legs experimentally, she discovered that her ankles were bound as well, but had not been tied to the bed.
She raised her head as best she could and glanced around the dark room. She couldn’t see much of anything as the only light was coming from a crack beneath the door. She heard the faint sounds of many people speaking, as if they were far away.
Once more Madame du Barré had tricked her. Damien must surely believe she was deceitful and a traitor. And once more, she had been naïve, escaping from his house like the spy he thought she was. But she had left the note for his men find. Surely that would explain her actions. She hoped.
She had to escape from Madame and turn herself in to Damien. She was sure Madame wanted her as a captive because of the spy business the French woman was involved in. But would Damien believe that she was not a willing participant?
She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists, but they were too tight. When she sat up to try to loosen the knots with her teeth, nausea gripped her insides. She fought down the waves of sickness, then tried again. But the knot about her wrists was just out of reach. With a groan of frustration, she slumped down.
Jessica lay on the bed for what seemed like hours. Occasionally, she pulled at the ropes and tried to reach the knots, but her efforts were futile. She heard people walk past the door, couples conversing, and the giggles of women. But when she called out for help, no one answered. Exhausted, she fell into a fitful sleep.
She did not know how long she slept, or what it was that woke her, but she was suddenly alert. She lay listening. It was very quiet. The silence had awakened her. She heard footsteps approach and stop before her door. A key turned in the lock, and the door swung open. Madame walked in.
“So, ma petite, you are awake finally, eh?” she said. “Bon, just in time. We have to go on a little journey.”
“Where are you taking me?” Jessica demanded. “What do you want with me?”
“Ah, always the questions. First, eat a little something, and then I will tell you.” Madame turned to Jacques who had come into the room with her. “Untie her and bring up the tray I prepared.”
Jacques took out a knife and sliced the ropes binding Jessica’s hands and feet, then he left. Jessica sat up and gasped as she rubbed her hands and feet, her circulation painfully returning. Madame sat on the edge of the bed. She took one of Jessica’s hands and began to massage it.
“That oaf,” she complained. “He does not realize that a woman does not have to be tied up like some angry bull. It is painful?”
Jessica nodded. “Madame, why are you doing this? I have done nothing to harm you.”
“Nothing, ma petite? Do you mean that you have said nothing about the letters you have delivered for me?” she said with a raised brow.
Jessica lowered her gaze before the woman’s accusation.
Madame shrugged. “Ah, well, I expected that. You are the innocent. It is too bad you became involved with Le Chat.”
“Le Chat? Who is…?” Jessica started to ask, then as she met Madame’s eyes, she realized who it was. Damien, of course. That warning she had received, signed with the paw print of a cat, must have been sent by him. He had been trying to protect her. She had once again been impulsively foolish.
Jacques returned with a tray of food and some wine. He placed the tray on the table beside the bed, then left. Madame poured a glass of wine and handed it to Jessica.
“Drink this, ma petite,” she told her. “It will warm you. We have a long, cold journey ahead of us.”
Jessica took the glass but did not drink. She remembered all too clearly what Madame had done to the tea. “Where are we going?” she asked, trying to delay drinking the wine.
“To France, of course. Drink your wine, ma petite.”
France? she thought, panicked. If Madame took her across the Channel, she would never see England—or Damien—again. “Please, can’t you leave me here? I won’t tell Damien anything.”
Madame laughed. “Foolish girl. Of course you would tell him.” She shook her head. “Non. I cannot leave you here. You will come with us. Now, drink the wine.” Madame’s voice became hard.
Despite her fear of the woman, Jessica refused to drink the wine. She needed to be alert, so she could try to escape.
Madame sighed in exasperation. “Jessica, please drink the wine. It will not make you sleep. It will only relax you. I wish for you to be awake when we leave. If you will not drink it, there are other, more unpleasant things that I will use to keep you calm. The choice is yours.”
Jessica stared at Madame as she weighed what the woman said. She did not doubt that she would do as she said. Deciding she had no other choice, Jessica drank the wine.
When she had finished the glass, Madame handed her a plate of food and remained with her while she ate. By the time she finished eating, a warm, languid feeling began to spread through her. It was quite pleasant. She felt very relaxed. Madame handed her a second glass of wine, and Jessica drank it with no questions. With a tiny part of her brain, she realized she was in great danger, but for some reason, she did not care. Nothing at that moment seemed to bother her. She handed the glass back to Madame.
Madame stood and tilted Jessica’s face up. “You will stay here for a little while. Do not try to get away. I will be back soon.”
“Yes, Madame,” Jessica answered obediently. She watched as the woman left, locking the door behind her.
As Jessica waited for her to return, she felt the effects of the second glass of wine begin to take hold. The small part of her brain which had told her she was in danger had been silenced. She felt nothing. She did not care what happened.
When Madame returned, she had two of her maids with her. She carried a bundle of clothes and a pair of scissors. Handing the clothes to one of the maids, she said, “Put these on her.”
The maids replaced Jessica’s clothes with trousers, shirt, and jacket. When she was dressed, Madame snipped off Jessica’s long hair, creating a mass of short curls. With the help of a hat and cape, Jessica had been transformed into a boy.
Madame removed the locket which Jessica always wore, and retrieved a long lock of hair from the floor. With a satisfied smile at the transformation she had performed on Jessica, she told the maids to bring her downstairs.
Jessica had become a puppet, doing as she was told, moving as she was guided. She soon found herself sitting astride Aphrodite. Her wrists had once again been bound together before her, and her ankles were tied together by a rope which ran under her horse’s belly.
Madame, also dressed as a man, mounted her horse. The group of riders, eight strong and all dressed as men except for two of them, began their flight to France.