Nathaniel pulled off Jake's shoes, his coat and britches, and tucked him into the cot in his underclothes. Jake flung his arms wide in an expansive gesture. Nathaniel grimaced. It was surprising how much space a six-year-old could take up. He edged into bed beside the child's warm body, rearranging Jake's limbs so that he occupied rather less of the narrow area. However, it was with no great confidence in a good night's sleep that the spymaster composed himself for rest.
Chapter 18
A lad brought a message to rue d’Anjou the following afternoon. He was a grimy urchin with his cap set crookedly on his unruly thatch of dirt-darkened hair. The footman surveyed him with a raised eyebrow and instructed him to go to the kitchen entrance.
The urchin sniffed and shook his head, thrusting a sealed envelope at the footman before he scampered back down the steps to the street.
The footman glanced at the envelope as if it were something nasty that had crawled out of the woodwork. However, it was clearly addressed in literate handwriting to the Comtesse de Beaucaire.
Gabrielle was sitting with Catherine in a sunny upstairs parlor when the message arrived on a silver salver. She recognized the writing immediately, and her heart jumped against her ribs, her stomach jolting with anticipation.
"Excuse me, Catherine." She smi'ed vaguely at her companion and left the parlor.
In her own room she tore open the envelope. The message, in the code she and Nathaniel had worked out together at Burley Manor, was similar in content to many she had received from Guillaume. She was given a channel of communication: the flower seller in the flower market whose stall was to the left of the center pump. She would be selling bunches of primroses. Gabrielle was to buy a bunch and with the three-sou payment she could pass on a written message using this same code.
There was nothing personal in the message, no greeting and no signature, only the handwriting to identify the sender. But that was only to be expected.
Gabrielle paced her bedroom, frowning. Nathaniel intended to keep his whereabouts secret from her. Why?
She could understand that he'd be extra cautious with Jake, but she needed to know where he was. For some reason, the idea of him somewhere in Paris, unreachable except through the medium of the flower seller, made her dreadfully uneasy.
Well, she'd just have to find out for herself where he was. She sat at the secretaire to compose a missive to the spymaster. Unfortunately she couldn't think of anything utterly compelling to tell him. She settled for the simple information that Talleyrand had returned from Prussia and was likely to be in residence in Paris for some weeks.
Slipping the sealed envelope into her reticule, she left the house, hailed a passing hackney, and drove to the flower market. It was as busy as it had been the previous day, the air moist and heavy with the scents of flowers, the cobblestones damp from the continual dousing the merchandise received from prudent sellers.
An old crone in black widow's weeds sat at the stall to the left of the central pump. She gave Gabrielle an incurious glance as she selected a bunch of primroses for her and held out a hand cruelly gnarled with arthritis for the three sous.
She took the envelope and the money without a flicker in the dull eves, and Gabrielle moved away, holding the primroses to her nose, inhaling their spring scent.
She took up a position beside a striped awning across from the primrose seller and waited. After a few minutes she saw a small boy run out from behind a cart and approach the crone. The lad grabbed the envelope and darted off through the throng toward the bridge that connected the small ile St. Louis to its larger cousin, the ile de la Cite.
Gabrielle hurried after him. She couldn't run without drawing attention to herself, but her long-legged stride kept the boy in sight as he raced along the Quai d'Orleans and disappeared round the corner of the rue Bude.
She stood at the end of the street, hidden in a doorway, inhaling the cold air that smelled of garbage and damp stone and mud from the Seine flowing sluggishly around the island. The lad stopped at number thirteen. She couldn't see who opened the door, but in a few seconds the lad was running back up the street. He went past her without seeing her, and Gabrielle walked briskly down the street, glancing casually at the door to number thirteen before making her way along rue St. Louis en l' ile, back to the dower market. At least she knew where Nathaniel and Jake were now. Not that it did her much good.
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Nathaniel swore vigorously as he looked at the letter Monsieur Farmier had brought upstairs. He'd instructed the baker to tell the flower seller to deliver any communications to Gerard's bar on the quay, where he'd arrange to have them collected. Farmier had obviously forgotten that instruction; presumably his brain had been fuddled with his midday tippling.
Gabrielle would have followed the lad. It was what he would have done in her circumstances, and she was always resourceful.
He went out into the street. There was no sign of a tall, black-clad redhead. But then, he wouldn't expect her to reveal herself either.
She wouldn't deliberately bring Fouche's men down upon him, not when he had Jake with him, but it was all damnably uncertain. And he couldn't afford uncertainty-not with Jake. He went back into the house and upstairs to his garret room. Perhaps he should change the safe house. Gabrielle could continue to believe he was still there and send her messages. But it was such perfect cover for the child.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs outside and the door burst open. "Papa-"
"It's polite to knock on a door before entering," Nathaniel said, regarding his son with a degree of irritation at this explosive interruption.
Jake fixed his eyes on his shuffling feet, and he became again the timid child of Burley Manor.
"What is it you want?" Nathaniel asked less sharply, catching the child's chin and turning it up. "What's that all around your mouth?"
"Toffee," Jake said, rubbing with the back of his hand. "It's sticky."
"Yes, I can see that. Come here." He drew the child to the dresser, dipped a cloth in water, and scrubbed vigorously.
"There's rabbits in the yard," Jake said, snuffling through the washcloth. "In a cage. Can I go an' see them? Henri has to feed 'em."
"How do you talk to Henri?" Nathaniel turned Jake's face side to side, examining it for any residue of toffee. "He doesn't speak English."
Jake looked confused by the question.
"I suppose actions speak louder than words," Nathaniel observed.
Jake didn't understand this either, but he could feel that his father's annoyance had disappeared. "So can I go, Papa?" He hopped anxiously from foot to foot.
"MayI?" Nathaniel corrected the child automatically.
"May I?" Jake repeated with ill-concealed impatience. "It's only in the yard outside the kitchen door.'
"I suppose so, but…" Nathaniel was left speaking to empty air, the sound of Jake's feet receding on the stairs.
Nathaniel smiled as he hoped that the child wouldn't associate furry bunnies with his dinner tomorrow. And suddenly he was swamped with longing to see Gabrielle, to share that thought with her, to hear her rich chuckle. He found himself wishing that if she had followed the lad, she'd have thrown caution to the wind and paid him one of her indiscreet visits.
But such thoughts were dangerous madness.
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"So, you believe you have gained the English spymaster's confidence, madame?" Fouche rolled an unlit cigar between his stubby fingers and regarded Gabrielle through hooded eyes.
"He has agreed to take me into lis service," she responded calmly, leaning back in her chair in Talleyrand's office.