CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DRAGO WAS TOO tall for the priest’s robes, which was perhaps a good thing while traveling the muddy streets of the city. Eva, though, had both fists filled with fabric as she struggled to prevent the hem from dragging through the slime.
This was a ridiculous plan.
They paused at the door to the jail; Drago quirked an inky eyebrow at her, his gray eyes were focused and alert, although they softened slightly as she tucked a stray wisp of hair into her wimple. “Ready?”
She expelled a breath and nodded, dropping her chin piously. The time had come to fulfill their end of the bargain. Drago hunched his shoulders, somehow managing to look twenty years older, and proceeded through the doorway.
A spindly, young man slowly rose to his feet and spat a long stream of tobacco juice on the floor as they stopped at his station. Another lounged in the corner, half asleep.
“May I help you, father?” the guard asked.
“Sì.” Drago nodded vigorously before turning to her.
“His English is not very good, yet,” she said softly. “I am Sister Eva and am his translator. Father Giuseppe has arrived to hear confessions from the wretched, so that when their days are done, they may enter the gates of heaven with a clean conscience.” She shifted her satchel to the opposite shoulder.
The young man withdrew a key ring from his coat pocket. “This way,” he mumbled.
Eva made to follow, but trod upon her dragging hem and stumbled forward with a small cry. The deputy whirled and caught her by the waist and righted her.
Drago snapped his brows down in a scowl and the man removed his hands as if they’d been scalded.
“Oh!” She exclaimed breathlessly, still gripping the man’s arms for support. “Thank you. I thought surely I was about to collide with the cold, stone floor.” She gathered her skirt and tunic in her hands and raised them to where they barely brushed the tops of her boots. “I shall have to shorten this.”
The man gave her one more uncertain look then led them to an iron door. He unlocked it and followed them into a room containing several holding cells.
Drago grabbed the man’s sleeve and spoke in rapid Italian. The young man looked at Eva in confusion.
“Father wishes to sit during confession. The pallets are fine. He would like to start at the end.”
“He wants to go inside?” The deputy glanced around the room. “I’m afraid I ain’t allowed to do that, sister. It wouldn’t be safe.”
She looked around the room. “Surely these men honor God enough to restrain themselves from doing us harm. How many violent murderers are in here?”
“Well, er...” He paused in thought. “I don’t rightly know.”
She moved to the first one, occupied by three young men, who looked to be brothers. “Sirs, what are your crimes?”
One stood and ducked his head. “Thievin’, sister.”
“And you?” She asked the men in the next cell. “Out beyond curfew,” came the reply.
She reached Pierre Lafitte, at the far end. He looked remarkably like his brother, except shorter and the several days of growth covering his unshaven jaws and cheeks. By this time, most of the prisoners had risen to their feet in interest, including Pierre.
Eva studied him. “You, sir. For what offense have you been imprisoned?”
He gave her a grand bow. “I’ve been detained for the act of self-preservation, sister. I was challenged to a duel with rapiers and in the process of defending my person, mortally wounded my foe.” He rose and met her gaze. A brief flicker of recognition passed over his features, followed by a pleasant smile, despite the dry, cracked lips. “I am quite remorseful and should very much like to offer my confession.”
Eva approached the deputy and dipped her head. “We shall accommodate you, sir, and remain outside this man’s cell. However, since the others are less nefarious, Father Giuseppe insists he sit inside with the rest.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I can allow that.”
The captain belched loudly, then grasped his stomach in apparent pain. Eva put her hand on his shoulder. “Stai bene, Padre?” Drago had taught her to say this one sentence in Italian. Hopefully, she got it right, although it probably didn’t matter.
He answered her in Italian and waved her away. She shrugged and addressed the guard. “Apparently Father Giuseppe ate something disagreeable, but he feels well enough to proceed.” She gestured to Pierre. “Father shall stay outside the cell of this violent criminal. As his crime is most heinous, we’ll start with him.”
She opened her satchel, and Drago reached in and pulled out a stole and a bible. He placed the garment around his neck and made the sign of the cross.
Eva began her “translation” in English. She spoke fluent French and Spanish and could read Latin and Russian, but unfortunately, never learned Italian. Since it was likely the deputy hadn’t either, so what was said wasn’t all that important nor how she “translated”. She could recite the rites in her sleep.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I grant blessings to you,” she said.
Pierre interrupted. “Pardon, sister, but do you speak my native tongue, French?” he asked.
“Of course.”
Pierre’s eyes lit up. He spoke to the guard in French, but the man waved his palms. “I can’t talk Frenchie.” He looked at her. “What did he say?”
“He simply asked if you spoke either Italian or French,” she answered.
He just shook his head. “Just use whatever will help move this along.”
She nodded, turned back to Pierre and conversed rapidly in French.
Follow our instructions exactly. We are going to get you out of here today.
Eva Trudeau? Is that really you? My, but you have grown up!
Drago narrowed his eyes, and addressed Pierre again in Italian so she could “translate.” But before she could respond, Pierre chuckled.
What is so funny?
He said my brother is a horse’s ass and he’s only doing this to restore his honor and self-respect.
Eva looked at Pierre in surprise and continued in French. Do you speak Italian?
He nodded, then leaned over and whispered in Drago’s ear.
Drago raised his chin and glared at Pierre, then responded in Italian. He shifted to stand in front of her.
She gave him a curious look then spoke to Pierre. What did he say to you?
I said you have blossomed into a beautiful flower. He responded by telling me if I laid a hand on you he’d cut it off. Are you two in love, Eva?
She rolled her eyes. He’s a liar and a thief.
Then he is perfect for you, little fox.
Drago huffed, then made the sign of the cross, again mumbling in Italian.
Pierre’s grin widened. Apparently, he understands French, as well. Our fun is ended mon cher.
She bit back a smile.
“How much longer is this gonna take?” The guard sighed and shifted his weight.
Eva spun to respond, and once again stepped on her hem, this time falling right into the guard’s arms. Both struggled for balance; he attempted to set her upright while she clutched at his arm with one hand, reaching for her rebellious skirts with the other. After a moment of fumbling, she was back on her feet.
She adjusted her clothing, and her stomach gave a horrified lurch. Her veil had slipped off her shoulder. Although the deputy quickly lowered his gaze, she didn’t miss the brief widening of his eyes when they fell upon the scar. She put the garment back in place and cleared her throat in embarrassment. “Thank you, sir.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes darted from the floor to her and back to the floor again.
The hardest part over, she clasped her hands under her tunic, careful to clutch the keys and keep them from making noise. Once a street rat, always a street rat, apparently. Hugo would have been proud. “In reply to your earlier question, this will be quite a while longer.” She frowned at Pierre. “This man neglected attending mass for a long time. He has much to confess.”
The guard expelled an annoyed breath.
Eva brightened. “I have an idea. If you leave the door ajar, I can come let you know when we wish to move to the next poor soul, and you can come back in to let Father Giuseppe into the cell for the next confession.”
The deputy gave her a relieved nod, spun on his heel, and withdrew before she could change her mind, leaving the door open a crack.
Drago quickly doffed his robes while Eva moved to the door with the keys she’d just lifted from the guard’s pocket. Pierre took off his coat and gave it to Drago, who handed him a bag of coins before stepping inside, collapsing on the pallet and covering himself with the coat.
Pierre grinned at the men in the other cells and put his finger to his lips. He then proceeded to distribute the money among the grinning prisoners, with words of thanks and encouragement. Then he slipped into the priest’s robes, drawing the hood up over his head.
She moved to Pierre’s side and he looped his arm across her shoulders and pretended to lean on her heavily. They shuffled to the iron door; Eva shouldered it open, appearing to struggle to hold the priest upright.
The guard was once again on his feet. “Did something happen?”
She gave him an apologetic smile. “It seems Father Giuseppe is not well after all. He asked me to take him home. We shall return when he’s better, perhaps in a day or two.”
He held open the door. Pierre nearly doubled over, released a pained moan as he passed, along with a loud belch.
The deputy snickered and she shrugged. “Bad beans.”
His eyes smirked in sympathy and he stepped aside. The chink of metal hitting stone made them all pause. She glanced down. “Sir, you dropped your keys.”
He patted his pocket, and his eyes widened. “So I did, thank you, sister.” His face reddened and he retrieved them, before retreating inside.
A short time later, Sister Beatrice’s shrill voice echoed through the building. “I beg your assistance. Father Giuseppe must have lost track of the time. He was to return quite some ago to prepare for evening mass.”
There was a panicked pause. “The father ain’t here no more. They departed over an hour ago.”
“Did Sister Gertrude happen to say where they were going?”
“Sister Gertrude?” The guard’s tone suggested confusion. “No, it were Sister Eva who be with the father.”
“Sister Eva? Who is Sister Eva?”
“Ye don’t know Sister Eva?” The last word came out a bit higher, with a tiny hint of panic.
Sister Beatrice harrumphed. “There are no nuns at the Ursuline convent by that name, sir.”
The metallic jingle of keys accompanied the deputy’s uneasy voice. “She said her name was Sister Eva. I’m sure of it.”
“Something’s not right,” the second voice was coated with dread.
The latch released and the door squealed open. Both men rushed in, heading straight for Lafitte’s cell. One of them banged on the bars. “Lafitte! Wake up!”
Drago didn’t move.
The guard fumbled and dropped his keys twice before finally opening the door. When he reached out and shook Drago’s shoulder, he was rewarded with a low moan. He rolled over and cursed.
His partner rubbed his forehead. “Damnation.”
“Oh, Dear Lord!” exclaimed Sister Beatrice, clasping her hands together. “What happened to Father Giuseppe? Is he hurt?”
The guard swore again and helped him to a sitting position. For good measure, Drago held his head and groaned again in pain.
The nun wrung her hands. “Please, sirs, if you would, help him to his feet, I’ll try to guide him back to the cathedral.”
Both guards half dragged, half carried him outside, apologizing as they went. Sister Beatrice huffed. “Impersonating a member of the clergy! How horrible!” She shook her finger at them. “You must catch those two heathens.”
They were sweating, even though the day was damn cold. “Yes, sister,” the first guard mumbled miserably. “There’s gonna be hell to pay, fer sure.”
He and the nun shuffled down the street and around the next corner before he straightened and gave her a satisfied grin. “Sister Beatrice, if you ever decide to leave the church, you could always find a career on the stage.”
Her cheeks warmed and she swatted his arm. “Oh, hush you.” She still smiled, though. “I rather enjoyed myself.”