Chapter 14
“Fouché, never before have you questioned my intentions. Why do you start now?”
Madame du Barré paced before the fireplace in a small, ornate sitting room. In a chair, was a slight, handsome man watching her with the eyes of a fox. He was Joseph Fouché, the very powerful Duke d’Otrante, Minister of Police under Napoleon.
“Adèlée, I am not questioning your intentions,” he answered smoothly. “I merely asked if it was wise to sell the girl at auction. She is, after all, the daughter of an earl. We are having enough problems with England as it is, without causing an international incident over some chit.”
Madame waved her hand impatiently. “Her father is dead, and her stepmother does not care what happens to her. The auction is the best way to flush out The Cat. You do wish to capture him, do you not?”
Fouché inclined his head in agreement. “You are so sure he will come after her?”
Madame stopped her pacing and looked confident for the first time since Fouché had arrived. “He will come after her. Come, I will show you.”
She led him to a door across the room and into another small room beyond. The two walked to the bed and gazed down at the unconscious girl laying upon it.
“Lovely,” Fouché conceded.
“There is another reason for him to pursue her,” Madame told him smugly. “She has been examined. She carries his child.”
Fouché raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “How can you be so sure it is his?”
“It is his. In things such as this, I am never wrong.”
Fouché turned back to the sitting room. “It will be to your advantage if you are correct, Adèlée. I was not overly pleased to discover that you had to flee England in order to save your precious skin.”
Madame followed him. “It was because of that man that I was forced to flee. He will follow me here. He will come looking for the girl. I know he will. When he does, he is lost.” Madame smiled wickedly and flexed her fingers as if they were claws. “You must allow me to make the arrangements for his capture. Revenge for his meddling will taste very sweet.”
Fouché picked up his walking stick in silence and strode to the door which led out to the hall. With his hand on the latch, he said coldly, “You may make the arrangements. Keep in mind that the fool who allowed him to escape from France the last time has not been heard from since. I do not tolerate mistakes.” Then he was gone.
Madame sank into a chair with a sigh of relief after the door closed behind the Duke d’Otrante. He was such a difficult man, and a ruthless one. But a smile of anticipation soon appeared on her face as she contemplated the capture and eventual demise of the man who was known as The Cat.
When Jessica awoke, the sun was high in the sky and streaming through the window beside the bed where she lay. The room was unfamiliar to her, and she wondered where she was. She felt dizzy and nauseous. Her arms and legs were stiff. She sat up slowly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. As she fought the waves of nausea, she realized she was wearing boy’s clothing. Absently, she picked at the breeches while she wondered what had happened to her own clothes.
Her last clear memory was of having tea with Madame du Barré. Everything after that was a blur except for one moment that she remembered vividly. Damien, standing on a beach, watching her, surrounded by his men. Was that a dream or a true memory? If it had actually happened, why did he let her go? Why did he let Madame escape? Despair flooded her. Damien must have been relieved to have her taken away by Madame. She was no longer a problem for him.
Perhaps the whole incident had never happened. Her brain felt fuzzy, and she knew Madame had drugged her. She had to try to escape.
She stood up and wandered about the room to examine her prison. It was a pleasant space despite the sparse furnishings of a simple bed, dressing table and small chair. Her head felt strangely light, and she put her hand up to discover why. The scantiness of her once long tresses made her gasp. She rushed to the tiny mirror above the dressing table and peered at herself. Her mouth dropped open. Her hair had been cut off! She turned and twisted to see better and pulled at several curls, but her hair still remained short. She glanced down at the clothing she wore. Why had Madame gone to such lengths to disguise her as a boy? She combed her fingers through her short, cropped curls and heaved a deep sigh. Her hair and clothes were the least of her problems right now.
She tried the door but knew it would be locked. Two girls speaking French approached in the hallway, probably maids. She banged on the door and called to them, but they walked past. Frustrated, she slumped against the door. Madame had brought her to France, and she had no way to get home. She had a vague memory of a boat ride, and Madame making her drink more wine. After that, she remembered nothing. Except for that vivid image of Damien on the beach.
Jessica rubbed her eyes. Why was she here? What did Madame want with her? After all, the French woman was now safely back in her own country. Le Chat was no longer a threat to her. But she had no answers.
Striding to the window, Jessica peered out. The wrought iron bars and the steep drop to the ground dashed any hope of an escape in that direction. Groaning in dismay, she pounded her hand against the glass. She heard the sound of carriages and people nearby, but if she could not get out, no one could help her.
The door opened, and Madame du Barré strolled in with another woman. The woman was about the same age as Madame, but was gaudily dressed, with an overabundance of frills and bows on her purple gown, which barely contained her ample bosom. Her hair was a vivid, red-orange color. Jessica warily watched them approach.
“Well, little one,” Madame said, speaking in French. “I see you are finally awake.” She indicated the other woman. “This is Madame Rousse. She is kind enough to allow us to stay in her house for a while. She does not mind that you are here, but you must behave yourself. You will remain in your room at all times, no matter what you hear. If you do this, no harm will come to you. If you try to escape, or if you wander out of your room, you will be punished.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you understand?”
Jessica looked from one woman to the other. She understood very well. Madame was not the kind woman she had led Jessica to believe. Jessica should have heeded her father’s warnings about not going near the woman or her establishment. There was danger there. Jerkily, she nodded her understanding.
Madame Rousse turned to Madame du Barré. “Are you sure you will not sell her to me, Adèlée? She is lovely. She would be very popular with my customers.”
Madame du Barré shook her head and smiled slyly as she tilted up Jessica’s face. “I am sorry, Colette, but I have other plans for this one. I will give you a share of what I get for her at auction because you have been so kind. She should bring a handsome price, don’t you think?”
Jessica’s blood froze in her veins as she guessed at what Madame was planning.
Madame Rousse appraised Jessica with a practiced eye. She nodded her approval. “She will bring a very handsome price, indeed. A pity you will not sell her to me. Ah, well. I must attend to my girls. I will see you later, Adèlée.”
After she left, Jessica asked, “What is going on, Madame? What auction?” Fear tied her insides into knots.
Madame smiled. “You, little one, are bait to catch a very large fish. Or rather, I should say, you are the fish to trap a cat.”
Confused, Jessica frowned, then her eyes widened. Damien. Le Chat. She stared at Madame in horror.
Madame laughed. “Yes, that is right. Your Duke. A pity. He is such a handsome devil.”
Jessica shook her head. “He will not come, Madame. He hates me.”
“Ah, you are so innocent, Jessica. Love and hate are so closely bound together that, at times, one cannot tell them apart.” Madame’s voice turned cold. “He will come.”
“And if he does not? What will happen to me?” Jessica asked, needing to know, at the same time dreading the answer.
Madame shrugged. “Whether he comes or not, you will be sold at auction to the highest bidder. You will become whatever your owner wishes, and I will make a considerable profit. Your Duke will have no need of you in Hell.”
Jessica felt her chest constrict, making it difficult to breathe. The French spy meant to kill Damien! Despite his contempt of her, she had to stop this. She loved him. The realization surged through her like a bolt of lightning. She was determined to save him at any cost.
“You could send me back to England. I could pay you a fortune,” she suggested, trying to sound nonchalant. “You know how well I gamble.”
“Pay me?” Madame asked incredulously. “With what? Where would you play? And what of your stepmother and your poor little brother? Your winnings would go to them.” She laughed shortly. “I am not so stupid, little one. No, I am afraid you will remain in France. Resign yourself that you will never see England again.” She sauntered to the door. “Do not concern yourself with your future, ma petite. It is out of your hands. I will have some food brought up to you.” She left, closing the door behind her with finality.
Alone and terrified, Jessica slumped on the bed. Tears welled up, but she dashed them away. Crying would do her no good. She got up and splashed water on her face. The cool water helped her refocus her thoughts.
She could not wait on the hope that Damien would rescue her. If he came, he would be walking into a trap, and she had no way to warn him. But she could try to escape. Since she was very good at gambling, somehow, she would use those skills to defeat Madame’s plans.
As she dried her face on the thin towel, the door opened, and a maid entered with a tray of food. Jessica tried to talk to her, but the girl said nothing, left the tray and hurried out, locking the door behind her. Jessica had no appetite. She threw herself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
When the maid came back to remove the tray, Jessica tried talking to her again, but the girl rushed away without a word. No one else came to her room. Twilight softened the shadows, and the maid returned with another tray of food. Jessica tried once more to speak with her, but with no better results than the last time. She gave up trying to talk to the girl when she took away the tray.
With the night came noises of people laughing and talking. Several times, Jessica heard couples strolling past her door. Then she was grateful for being locked in. She had discovered the type of establishment Madame Rousse owned by listening to the conversations of those couples. The girls were filles de joies, paramours, lightskirts. Empathy for them welled in up in her. After the auction, she would belong to their society.
Her hand went to her belly, still flat, where she carried Damien’s child. What would happen to her once the man who bought her discovered she carried another man’s child? What would happen to the babe after it was born? She should have told Damien about the babe, as Donny had said. Now, he might never learn he had fathered a child. Regret sat heavy in her chest. She had been so naïve and foolish.
She rubbed her belly where her child grew. She was not alone. Together, they would somehow get through this nightmare.
The next two days were no different. She saw no one except the silent maid who brought her meals. She stripped and washed as best she could with the stale water in the small washbasin. After she dressed, she went back to counting the spaces between the floorboards.
She knew every inch of the room where she was being held. Occasionally, she would try the door to see if someone had accidentally forgotten to lock it, and several times, she banged on the door and yelled to see what would happen. Nothing. It was as if she did not exist.
During the afternoon of the second day of her captivity, the door opened, and Madame walked in. She was followed by the fattest man Jessica had ever seen. He waddled sideways through the opening. Rolls of fat hung over the neck of the huge, velvet tunic he wore in place of shirt and coat. His arms were twice as thick as Jessica’s waist. His eyes were tiny beads in his bulging cheeks. His face had the appearance of bread dough with a dot of strawberry jam in the middle where his mouth should be. He and Madame approached Jessica. All Jessica could do was gape at him.
“You see, Le Cochon,” Madame said. “She is small, but very well proportioned. You must sell her as your last item. It will be worth a great deal to your purse.”
The man reached out with his sausage-like fingers and grabbed Jessica’s chin, turning her face this way and that. In disgust, she jerked out of his grasp. He threw up his hands in dismay.
“Madame, how can I make a judgment if the baggage cannot even hold still for me to look at her. And these rags! They must come off.” His voice came out in a high sing-song.
Madame turned to Jessica. “Take off your clothes,” she ordered.
Jessica blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said to get undressed,” Madame said testily.
Jessica shook her head and backed away a step. “No.”
With an exasperated sigh, Madame explained, “Either take off the clothes yourself, or I will have someone take them off for you.” She turned to the fat man. “She will be more amenable by the time of the auction, I assure you.”
“There are those who prefer their purchases to have spirit, Madame,” Le Cochon said. “Do not break her.”
Jessica felt fear tighten inside her. She stared from Madame to the fat man and back again. If only there was some means of escape…Her gaze drifted to the doorway. Madame had left the door open.
The invitation to freedom was too great to let slip by. She did not know where she would go once she escaped, but she would worry about that later. With a leap, she side-stepped around Madame and bounded out the door. She bolted down a set of stairs, two at a time. At the bottom was a garishly decorated room—golds, reds, violets blurring as she ran through. In the far wall was a door leading to the outside and freedom. She kept her eyes on that door as she ran across the thick rug. She should have checked to see if anyone was around.
A very large body hit her from the side and threw her to the floor. She fell hard, and the wind was knocked out of her. As she gasped for air, she saw the grinning face of Jacques, Madame’s major-domo, hovering over her. Jessica screamed in frustration as he hauled her to her feet. He pulled both her arms behind her and held her wrists together in one large hand. Struggling was useless. Then he propelled her back up the stairs and into her prison.
“That was a foolish thing to do,” Madame said. “You are fortunate that the auction is tomorrow night, and there will be little time for bruises to heal. Otherwise, the consequences of your attempt to escape would not have been pleasant. Perhaps, though, we can still find a suitable punishment.” She turned to Jacques. “Strip her.”
“No!” Jessica cried and struggled to free herself from Jacques’s grip. “I will do it,” she muttered.
Madame studied her a moment, then with a jerk of her head and a wave of dismissal, she ordered Jacques to leave. Frowning unhappily, he released Jessica and retreated out the door. Madame locked it behind him. Jessica slowly removed her clothes, folding each piece and placing it on the bed to delay. She was finally dressed only in a shirt.
“Remove that as well,” Madame said.
Jessica was about to refuse when she saw the cold glint in Madame’s eyes. With a silent sigh, turning her back, she removed her shirt. Humiliated, she stood stiffly, her hands clenched at her sides.
Her head snapped up in shock when the fat man touched her. He squeezed her flesh, touched her here and there, turned her this way and that, smoothed his hand across her stomach and her bottom. Jessica endured it in silence, but when he pinched the sensitive tips of her breasts, she cried out and jumped away. Le Cochon turned to Madame with a satisfied nod. “She is valuable property,” he said. “Beauty, good skin, responsive, spirited. It is a shame about her hair, but it will grow. I can start the bidding very high.”
“How high?” Madame demanded.
He turned back to Jessica and regarded her thoughtfully. “Five-hundred gold guineas.”
Madame’s eyes gleamed with avarice. “You will be well rewarded, Le Cochon. Come down to the kitchen. I believe the cook baked fresh pastry today.” As they walked to the door, Madame glanced at Jessica with a sly grin.
“Enjoy your last few hours of innocence, ma petite,” she said. “After tonight, you will learn what the world is truly like.”
Jessica pulled her shirt over her head and sank to the bed. Thoughts of Damien filtered through her head. Damien whispering to her, Damien kissing her, Damien loving her. The memories were all she had now. The memories and the child she carried.
Somehow, no matter how long it took, she would escape and let Damien know he had fathered a child.
Le Cochon, propped up on many pillows because of his enormous weight, slept the sleep of the innocent. Snoring thunderously, he did not hear the muffled scrape of a boot on the parquet floor of his bedroom. Nor did the soft hiss of a dagger drawn from its scabbard awaken him. Two dark shapes watched him sleep, one from beside the bed, the other from deeper shadows in the corner of the room. It was not until one of the shapes knelt on the bed beside him and pressed the cold steel of a knife against his throat that he became aware that he was not alone.
With a snort, Le Cochon reluctantly opened his eyes. He had been dreaming of roast pheasant with chestnut stuffing, of puff pastry filled with orange-flavored cream. It had been a wonderful dream. Now he was awake, and hungry. He felt the blade nestling between the folds of skin on his neck and realized it was not morning. He would have to wait before he could eat again.
“What do you want?” he demanded testily. He was not afraid. There were few who would dare harm him, no matter how much they desired his disappearance or demise. He was too valuable a source of information. And he had many safeguards in place as insurance.
“Please, Le Cochon,” a silky voice entreated from a black corner of his room. “A little civility would be appreciated.”
Le Cochon knew that voice. It was the only one which could inspire fear in him. A few months ago, that voice had kept him prisoner and hungry for two days. Two whole days! All because of some tiny bit of information Le Cochon had conveniently forgotten. Gingerly, because of the dagger at his throat, he turned his head toward the shadows and tried to make out the figure who lurked there.
“Monsieur Le Chat,” he said meekly, “please forgive me. I did not expect to ever see you again.”
Le Cochon felt, rather than saw, the cold smile which appeared on those handsome lips.
“Ah, you heard, then, of our misfortune, of our betrayal. Did you truly believe I had used up all of my nine lives, Le Cochon? Perhaps you know something more about the trap Fouché set for us?”
The knife against Le Cochon’s throat pressed harder.
“No, no, monsieur, nothing,” he denied. “I know only what I hear in the streets, in the bistros.” Le Cochon sent a pleading glance at the shadow hovering over him.
The pressure against his neck lessened.
A movement from the dark corner drew his attention again. Le Chat stepped forward onto the Aubusson carpet which covered the center of the floor of Le Cochon’s bedroom. He appeared to drift above the floor like some dark angel.
“Fortunately for you, Le Cochon, I have not come seeking revenge,” Le Chat said. “I came for information. There is a woman. Small, beautiful, with raven hair and eyes like sapphires. I want her.”
Le Cochon swallowed against the knife. He should have known the girl belonged to someone of significance, especially because of the lack of secrecy involved. Word about her had spread through the back rooms of bistros and the shady world of the demimondaine faster than the plague. That bitch, the du Barré, wanted her to be found. If he told this devil where the woman was, he would lose the tremendous profit he had been expecting to get for her. The knife wiggled against his throat, and he felt a sting of pain as the skin was broken. But he could still make this venture worthwhile.
“There will be an auction, Monsieur Le Chat. She is to be sold to the highest bidder.” Becoming cagey, Le Cochon added, “The rest of the information, monsieur, you will have to pay for.”
Le Cochon felt the anger emanate from the dark figure standing across the room as if it were something tangible. For a moment, he thought he had pushed too hard. Then, he sensed the tension release.
He had no doubts that Le Chat would appear at the auction. Le Cochon knew what the great spy was after. She was exquisite. He assumed that Le Chat had more than a nodding acquaintance with her. Why else would the devil risk returning to France? As for his payment, he knew he would receive that, also. Le Chat harbored an unusually honorable streak for such a ruthless rogue.
Damien had expected to pay this pig. He had used him as a source of information before, and the price had been steep. But Le Cochon’s information was always accurate, so it was worth the exorbitant cost. Now, he prayed that it would be so again. If Le Cochon was wrong, then he and Jessica and all his men were lost.
“You will get your payment at the auction, Le Cochon,” Damien said. “I will bid for the girl. And I will win her. You will get more than what you dreamed possible. Now, where is the auction to be held, and when?”
As soon as Le Cochon had given them the time and place of the auction, Damien and Edward slipped out of the bedroom. They had no fear of being discovered, for they had incapacitated all of Le Cochon’s servants, having either knocked them unconscious or tied them up.
At the bottom of the stairs, they turned toward the back of the house. The rest of Damien’s men lounged outside, waiting. As Damien emerged, Higgins pushed away from the garden wall.
“The cook’s been tied up and hidden in a stable a few houses away, sir,” Higgins reported.
“And the food?” Damien asked.
Higgins grinned. “Distributed to the poor of the city, sir.”
Damien gave an answering grin. His revenge for the possibility that Le Cochon had been involved in his betrayal to Fouché was to deprive the man of any way to assuage his enormous appetite for a while. “Good. Let’s leave here, gentlemen, and get some sleep. We have work to do tomorrow night.”