Chapter 15
Late the next afternoon, the silent maid who delivered Jessica’s meals arrived with several other servants who carried in a hip bath and buckets of steaming water. For a moment, she wondered at the sudden kindness of Madame du Barré, but then realized the reason for it. The auction would be held that night. She would be put on display like a horse to be sold to the highest bidder. It would be to Madame’s advantage to make her merchandise as attractive as possible. When the servants had filled the tub, they all left except for the silent maid.
“Madame du Barré said you were to bathe,” the girl said timidly with her eyes downcast. “She told me to help. Please, don’t get me into trouble.” She glanced at the door as if she expected it to open at any moment.
Despite her own dire predicament, Jessica’s heart twisted. The girl was obviously deathly afraid of doing something wrong and being punished. She was shorter and younger than Jessica, not fully grown. Fine, dark strands of hair escaped from her cap.
“I promise not to try to escape,” Jessica said. “What is your name?”
The girl raised large brown eyes. “Marie.” The word was barely above a breath.
“Why didn’t you talk to me before, Marie?” Jessica asked.
Marie glanced at the door again before she answered. “Madame Rousse told me not to speak to you or she would beat me. Please, I should not be talking to you now.” She silently indicated a tray of food that had been placed on a table beside the bed.
Jessica had little appetite, but she made herself eat for the babe. She looked forward to stepping into the heated tub. She hadn’t had a proper bath since leaving Damien’s home.
By the time Marie had finished Jessica’s toilette, night had fallen. Jessica sat alone, naked, huddled in a blanket as she waited for whatever came next. She tried not to imagine the coming hours. The minutes seemed to crawl by. She prayed for the auction to be over quickly, so that she could at least be free from fear of the unknown. Finally, she heard the scrape of a key in the lock, and Madame du Barré entered. She carried a white garment over her arm.
Madame smiled. “It is almost time to go, little one. Stand up and let me look at you. And take off that hideous blanket.”
Jessica’s gaze went to Jacques, who hovered just behind the woman. His face was expressionless. He appeared to care little if Jessica was clothed or not. Raising her chin proudly, she stood and allowed the blanket to drop. There was no point in fighting. Her fate was already sealed.
Madame nodded in approval as she studied Jessica. “Very good. Marie has done well. I will have to tell Madame Rousse to commend the girl. Now, for the finishing touch.”
She shook out the white material that had been draped over her arm. It was not a garment at all, but a large square of diaphanous, white silk. She wrapped it about Jessica, pulling it under one arm and tying two corners at the other shoulder. It concealed and revealed at the same time, for it remained open down one side of Jessica’s body.
Madame stood back to survey her work critically. When she was satisfied, she held out her hand to Jacques who gave her a warm cloak. This she carefully placed about Jessica’s shoulders and pulled the hood over her head. No one would guess that Jessica wore next to nothing.
“Now, you are ready, little one,” Madame told her. “Just a short ride, and then you will enter a new life.”
Jessica gazed impassively at her. She was determined not to reveal her overwhelming fear. Don’t let them know you are afraid.
They descended the stairs and left the house by a side door. A coach was waiting for them. Jessica breathed in the chill, night air. She relished the tiny feeling of freedom it gave her. She had not been outside for many days, and the fresh air made her giddy. She climbed into the coach, followed by Madame and Jacques. With her head bowed, she sat in the corner of the seat and prayed that fate would not be too cruel to her this night.
“For whom are you praying, little one?” Madame sneered. “For yourself, or for your lover, Le Chat?”
Jessica’s head snapped up at the mention of Damien. What diabolical scheme had Madame planned? Did she really believe that Damien would come after her?
Madame laughed. “Oh, yes, little one. He will be there tonight. Feast your eyes when you see him, for it will be the last time you will be able to gaze upon his handsome face.” Madame shook her head. “A terrible shame to kill such a perfect male specimen. But perhaps he will only be captured, and I can turn him over to Fouché. Either way, I win, and he loses.” Madame’s smile was cruel.”
Instead of pleading or bargaining with Madame to let Damien go free, Jessica bit her lip to refrain from making a reply. Invoking Madame’s anger now might lessen any chance she would have to warn Damien of a trap. Once again, she lowered her head.
The auction was to be held in a country house several miles outside the city, less likely to be discovered by the authorities than if it were held in Paris. Jessica wondered what type of person actually attended these affairs. She knew, of course, of black slaves, and she had heard whispered rumors of the slave markets of North Africa where white women from captured European vessels were sold, never to be heard from again. Would she disappear into oblivion, also?
As the coach pulled around to the back of a large chateau, her heart quickened, and her hands began to shake. She was determined not to show her fear, and she clenched her fists to hide her tremors. Keeping her face expressionless, she descended from the carriage. With Madame on one side of her and Jacques on the other, she walked through the door to meet her fate.
They entered through the kitchen and passed down a long hall into a small sitting room. Jessica counted nine other girls waiting to be auctioned besides herself. They were all dressed in a similar fashion to what she wore. Some sat waiting quietly, some cried, the rest looked as if they were in shock.
Madame took the cloak from Jessica’s shoulders, and then she and Jacques left. Jessica shivered in the chill air. There was no fire on the hearth. Glancing about, she realized that even though she had been left alone, escape was impossible. A very large, rough-looking man stood to one side of the door and watched everything closely. Jessica found an empty chair in a corner and sat down to wait.
It was not long before the door across the room opened and an older woman beckoned to a tall, buxom girl. Before the girl went out the door, she turned and waved to the others waiting. “Good luck, my friends,” she called.
So, the auction began. One by one, each of the girls was taken out the door to meet her master. At last, only Jessica remained. The door across the room opened again, and the woman who had been escorting the girls entered. She held a length of long, white, satin ribbon in her hand. She stopped before Jessica.
“Hold out your hands, child,” she said kindly.
Jessica gazed at her in confusion and did as she was told. The woman wrapped the ribbon about Jessica’s wrists and tied them together, leaving a length of ribbon trailing on the floor. None of the other girls had been bound. Jessica raised questioning eyes to the woman.
“I was told to tie you,” the woman said. “I do not know why. We only tie those who have been unruly.” She gave Jessica a sympathetic smile and a gentle pat on the arm as she finished. “Come along. It is your turn, now.”
Jessica knew that Madame du Barré had something to do with her being bound. Why else would she have been the only one?
The woman led Jessica through the door and into a room filled with people. The crowd was mostly made up of men, but a few women were scattered among them. A raised platform stood between Jessica and the crowd. The woman handed the end of the ribbon tying Jessica’s wrists to the fat man, Le Cochon. He led her onto the platform.
Le Cochon began the bidding. “Our last sale of the evening, ladies and gentlemen. A lovely pearl from the shores of England. Gently born and raised. Intelligent, yet endowed with spirit, guaranteed to make bedding her an experience to remember.”
At this last, he winked and grinned at the crowd, then placed his fat hand on one of Jessica’s breasts and pinched her. Jessica gasped in pain. Knocking away his hand, she swung both fists and hit him in the arm, then moved as far away as the length of ribbon allowed. The crowd laughed and applauded. Jessica stared stonily at a spot in the wall straight ahead.
“The opening price is five hundred guineas!” Le Cochon announced. “Who will bid?”
“Five hundred!” came a bid from the right side of the room.
“Seven hundred!” a man sitting directly before the platform bid.
“One thousand!” a third man called out.
So, the bidding went on: eleven hundred, twelve, fifteen hundred, two thousand, up to three thousand guineas.
“I have a bid of three thousand guineas,” Le Cochon told the crowd. He gazed out over the faces expectantly. “Come, come,” he exhorted them. “Is that all you will bid for such a ravishing creature?”
He reached out and tugged at the knot at Jessica’s shoulder holding her garment in place. It fell to the floor with a whisper. The people murmured with approval at Jessica’s nakedness. Appalled, humiliated, she shivered, but raised her chin and stared straight ahead.
Le Cochon gave the crowd a sly look. “I have heard it rumored that she is the mistress of Le Chat. Gentlemen, does that not fire your loins? Imagine, having this beauty under you, moaning, knowing that you are taking the place of that devil Le Chat.”
“Four thousand!” a dark haired man with beady, evil eyes offered.
“Forty-five hundred!” another bidder shouted.
“Five thousand!” the dark haired man returned.
Le Cochon waited a moment, but no other bid was offered. “I have five thousand,” he said. “Is there another bid?”
He raised his walking stick to finalize the sale, and Jessica’s heart sank. She knew the dark haired man would not treat her kindly.
Before Le Cochon’s stick hit the floor, a deep voice from the far corner of the room announced, “Ten thousand.”
Jessica immediately sought out the source of the voice. Damien! He leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, appearing bored with the proceedings. He was dressed as Jessica had seen him at Monsieur Montaigne’s, as Le Chat.
The crowd babbled excitedly, and someone exclaimed, “Le Chat!” Le Cochon smiled happily at the large bid and rapped his walking stick several times to regain order. When the crowd quieted down once more, he looked questioningly at the dark haired man.
“Do you wish to bid against the rightful owner of this piece of fluff, monsieur?” he asked.
The man scowled and shook his head. Le Cochon brought his walking stick down sharply.
“Sold, to Le Chat, for ten thousand guineas,” he announced.
Damien pushed away from the wall and made his way to the platform. He tossed two pouches, heavy with coins, at the feet of the auctioneer.
“You may count it if you wish,” Damien drawled, daring the man to do so.
“That will not be necessary, monsieur,” Le Cochon replied quickly. “You have always paid me fairly in the past.”
A glance full of meaning passed between the two men. Damien finally smiled without humor.
“You would do well to remember that, Le Cochon,” he said.
Le Cochon passed the end of the ribbon to Damien. “You have made a wise purchase, monsieur. There are those who would use the mademoiselle against you.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed at the oblique warning, then he turned to Jessica. Placing his hands around her waist, he swung her down from the platform. He removed his cloak, placed it over her shoulders, then guided her through the crowd and outside. He stopped just outside the door of the house and began to untie the knotted ribbon around her wrists.
Jessica remained silent as she watched his fingers work at the ribbon. Her feelings at seeing him, being near him, went so deep she did not trust herself to speak. She shifted her gaze to the dark beyond the lamplight to keep her equilibrium. A movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. It all happened in an instant and yet time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Madame du Barré stood in the middle of the lawn with Jacques beside her. A flash of light reflecting off metal revealed the pistol raised high in her hand, aimed directly at Damien’s back.
A flash, and the report of a gunshot rang out.
Screaming his name, Jessica launched herself at him, knocking him off balance against the wall of the house. She felt a thud in her shoulder, then a white-hot pain. A second explosion rang in her ears, and she watched through a blur as Jacques crumpled to the ground. Madame disappeared into the woods behind her. The smell of gunpowder made Jessica cough.
“Are you hurt?” Damien asked, as he stuck his pistol into the waistband of his trousers.
“I’m all right.” She could not worry about the searing pain in her shoulder. Impatiently, she tried to push him toward the drive. “Please, you have to get away from here. Madame was trying to kill you. Leave me here and go.”
“Not bloody likely,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Do you think I came all this way to leave you?” He grabbed her arm and hurried along the front of the house, across the lawn and into a group of trees. In its shelter were two horses, one already with a rider. Jessica recognized Leftenant Johnson as he held the reins of Damien’s huge stallion. Damien nearly threw Jessica onto the horse, then mounted behind her. With a nudge of his heels, he urged his horse into a gallop.
Waves of nausea and blackness washed over Jessica. Hot pain radiated from her shoulder at every jostle. Warm blood trickled down her side. She tried desperately to remain conscious. Damien did not need to be hampered with her inert form. But the world around her became blurred and fuzzy.
She was not really aware of where they went or how long they rode as she slipped in and out of consciousness. Only Damien’s arm kept her on his horse. He had come for her. That was all that mattered.
They finally stopped before a tiny cottage. The horses were blowing heavily after their long, treacherous gallop through the dark. When Damien dismounted, Jessica flopped sideways from the horse. He caught her before she fell, and his hand slipped against her skin, wet and sticky.
“God’s teeth,” he muttered as he realized it was blood.
With his mouth in a grim line, he picked her up and carried her into the cottage. He placed her on the small cot in the single room. Pulling the cloak away from her shoulders, he saw the round, dark hole seeping blood where she’d been shot. He covered her with a blanket, then went to start a fire on the hearth. As he coaxed the kindling into flames, Leftenant Johnson entered after having secured their horses.
“We’ll have to stay here longer than I had planned,” Damien said. “Jessica has been shot. I want the others on lookout duty at the usual places.”
“They’re already posted,” Johnson said. “Is she hurt very badly?”
“She was hit in the shoulder. I think the ball is still in the wound. I couldn’t see very well.” Damien straightened. “I’ll need some water and something for bandages.”
As Johnson left to gather the supplies, Jessica moaned. Damien grabbed the lamp and hurried to her side. Her face was pale, and she shivered. As he tucked the blanket around her, his chest tightened. She was so small and delicate, yet she had pushed him out of the way of a bullet that might very well have killed him. He knelt down and smoothed back her curls, short now that Madame had cut her hair. They looped around his fingers in silky coils. He mourned the loss of her long tresses.
At his touch, her eyes fluttered open. They widened in panic, and she grabbed his coat.
“Madame has set a trap,” she said. “She means to capture you. Damien, you have to get away.”
Damien smiled soothingly, disengaged her fingers from the front of his coat and held her hand. “It’s all right, Jessica. We’re safe for now. Rest for a while.”
He placed a kiss on her fingers. With a nod and a sigh followed by a grimace of pain, she fell unconscious once more.
Johnson returned with a bucket of water and a handful of cloth strips. Damien helped him empty the bucket into a kettle hanging over the fire, then took him aside.
“We have to be away from here by dawn,” Damien said. “We’ll need a wagon to get Jessica to the coast. Have Higgins take one of the others and see what he can find. Tell them to be very careful. I’m sure Fouché will have patrols out all over the countryside. After you have spoken to Higgins, come back here. I’ll need your help.”
Johnson nodded briskly and left. Damien returned to the cot where Jessica lay. He unclasped the cloak from about her throat and pulled it off her shoulders. There was an ugly little hole where the ball had entered her soft flesh. It bled freely. He folded one of the cloth strips and pressed it against the wound, then tucked the blanket more securely around her. When he had finished, he put his hand to her cheek.
“Jessica,” he said softly.
Slowly, she opened eyes clouded with pain. She smiled weakly.
His thumb caressed her cheek. “Jessica, I have to remove the ball from your shoulder. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“It will hurt, love,” he said. “I’ll try to be careful.”
“I know you will.” Her words were infused with a confidence he did not feel.
He stood and scowled darkly at the wall before him. He was torn with guilt and apprehension, feelings which had never assailed him before. His guilt arose from his desperate desire to help the wounded girl who lay before him. She was a member of the family that had inflicted so much pain on his. Margaret’s evil seduction of his brother. His brother’s death in that God-forsaken duel. His mother’s devastation. If he’d had any sense of justice, he should not have followed her into France to save her. He should have let her go to whatever fate Madame du Barré had planned. Instead, he found himself aching with a need to heal her, to escape with her back to England. When he had seen her exhibited at the auction, naked before all those leering eyes, he had wanted to strangle every man there with his bare hands. But even in front of that salacious crowd, Jessica had stood brave and defiant. She was magnificent.
An unfamiliar apprehension swamped him. His responsibility was to get everyone safely out of France, but he felt very unsure about the outcome of this mission. He had never worried about such things before, assuming a favorable outcome for every assignment. He knew his talents and those of his men and used them accordingly. He had trained his men to be resourceful in an emergency. With Jessica injured, their progress to the coast would be slow, giving Fouché time to catch up to them. Resourcefulness could not make up for lost time. Since this slip of a girl had entered his life, he found he could not be sure of anything.
When Johnson returned to the cottage, Damien forced his dark thoughts aside and prepared to remove the ball from Jessica’s shoulder. As the Leftenant held a light, Damien cleaned the wound with the heated water. He could see the ball just below the surface of her skin. Fortunately, it had almost spent itself by the time it entered her shoulder. He held his knife in the fire to clean it. Then with Johnson holding her down, Damien pried the ball from her flesh. She cried out, stiffened against the pain, then lapsed back into unconsciousness. Damien pressed a pad of cloth against the sudden flow of blood from the wound, then washed and bandaged her shoulder tightly. He sat back on his heels, and let out his breath in a rush. Sensing Johnson’s concerned gaze, he frowned to cover his relief and stood.
“Have you checked our lookouts?” he asked, irritated that he had revealed his feelings about Jessica.
“If they see anything, they will report,” Johnson said with a shrug. “Why don’t you try to rest? You haven’t slept in two days. I can watch over Lady Jessica.”
Damien glared at him. Johnson grinned, reached into a pocket and pulled out a silver flask. As he tossed it to Damien, he said, “This might help your mood. Sir.”
Damien hissed out his exasperation at his friend and caught the flask in one hand. He sniffed its contents. The pungent scent of his best brandy assailed his nose. He poured a liberal amount on the bandage covering Jessica’s wound. As the alcohol painfully sterilized her wound, Jessica stiffened, mumbling gibberish in her unconscious state. Damien took a generous swallow, capped the flask, and tossed it back to Johnson.
“At least you’re good for something,” he grumbled. The brandy helped quell the anxiety that had assailed him since discovering Jessica’s wound.
At that moment, Walker burst into the cottage. “Sir!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “A patrol passed me on the road, headed this way.”
“We’ll have to move. Where is Higgins with that wagon?” he chafed.
As he spoke, he heard the sound of horses drawing a heavy vehicle. It was the distinct noise of a well-oiled coach, not the wagon they expected. It stopped before the cottage. At a flick of Damien’s hand, they quickly donned their masks, drew their pistols, and took up defensive positions. Johnson and Walker stood against the wall on either side of the door. Damien stood in the corner and guarded Jessica’s cot. The door creaked open, and a man filled the opening.