Page 78

TWENTY-TWO

Y ou’ve not only failed, you’ve become a monster,” Anne Dupree said coldly. “How do you expect to be accepted by the gentlemen of the convention?”

“I couldn’t help it,” Dupree whimpered. “I had to hide from the policia and almost died. By the time it was safe for me to go to a surgeon, my bones had healed wrong.”

“Better you had died than come back to me like this. What use are you to me? Do you expect me to care for you when it’s your duty to care for me?”

“No,” Dupree said quickly. “Everything will be as you wish. I can still get the Wind Dancer for you. I know who has it.”

“Jean Marc Andreas,” Anne Dupree said caustically. “And how do you intend to wrest it from him? While you’ve been away Marat has been murdered and you have no patron, no power. Are you to go begging Danton or Robespierre for a place?”

“I went to Danton at his home and he refused me,” Dupree admitted. “He said he had no use for murderers.”

“Yet he had use for you before you went to Spain. I told you no one would be able to bear the sight of you with your twisted bones.”

“But there’s still hope. When I managed to escape from Spain I went first to Marseilles and asked questions.

” Dupree’s words tumbled one after the other in his effort to convince her.

“Andreas has a cousin, Catherine Vasaro, for whom he has a fondness. She may even be the girl in the locket. There has to be some connection between Juliette de Clement and Andreas.”

“You told me the girl in the locket was a princess.”

He had forgotten he had told her that falsehood. “I thought she was a princess but perhaps—”

“You lied to me.”

“No,” he said desperately. “I thought she was a princess. I only said—”

“Never mind.” His mother’s gaze narrowed on his face. “How will you use the Vasaro girl?”

“I’ll send her a message that I have Jean Marc Andreas captive and she must come herself to ransom him.”

“What if she ignores the message?”

“She won’t.” Dupree tried to sound confident. “She’ll come. And then I’ll have her.”

“And you’ll use her to make Andreas give you the Wind Dancer?”

Dupree nodded quickly.

“I don’t like it.” She frowned. “It’s a plan based on sentiment.”

She had identified Dupree’s own worst fears, but he had to persuade her he could be successful. “She’s only a foolish girl. Sentiment is common in women of—” He stopped as she turned her cold gray eyes on him. “Not you. But some women don’t realize how stupid it is to let sentiment rule them.”

“And Andreas? From what you’ve told me, I’d say he’s not a man of sentiment.”

“I tell you he has a fondness for her.”

“You have no cunning.” Anne Dupree rose to her feet with a swish of lavender taffeta.

“I thought I’d taught you better. Forget this plan and go to Paris and set watch over Andreas.

All men have secrets—and there might be something we can learn about this one that will profit us.

It’s better than trusting to sentiment. You’ll leave at once. ”

“I thought to stay here for a few days and rest,” Dupree stammered. “I’m not well. The bullet is still lodged in my body and at night I get the fever.” It was the truth but not the reason he wished to stay. It had been too long since he had seen her.

“You wish to rest? Certainly.” She smiled at him. “But you cannot expect to sleep in any of my nice clean beds. You’ve been very naughty. You failed me, Raoul. You didn’t bring me the Wind Dancer and you lied to me about the princess. You know the place for naughty little boys.”

“No!” Dupree got up as quickly as possible. “I’ll go at once to Paris. You’re right, I should watch Andreas.”

“I doubt you need worry that anyone will recognize you.” Anne Dupree made a delicate moue. “But be cautious, nevertheless. This is your last chance, Raoul. I shall not be so indulgent again.”

He grabbed his hat from the table. “I’ll not fail you.” He moved awkwardly toward the door, dragging his left leg behind him. “I’ll get it. I’ll give you the Wind Dancer.”

Anne Dupree walked to the mirror and patted the heart-shaped patch at the corner of her mouth. “That’s a good boy,” she said absently. “Oh, and take the locket from the jewel case in my chamber. You might have use for it, if you decide to involve the Vasaro girl in some way.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“The locket has no value now.” She inclined her head to stare at her son. “Because it’s not worthy of me, is it?”

She was not going to forgive him, he thought in panic. She might never forgive him again unless he brought her the Wind Dancer. The Wind Dancer had the power to give his mother everything she had always wanted. It would make her a queen greater than the Bourbon bitch they’d beheaded last week.

“No, it’s not worthy,” he mumbled as he opened the door. “I’m sorry, Mother. Please…I’ll bring you the Wind Dancer. I’ll bring it…”

He limped from the room, pausing just outside the door to try to suppress waves of nausea. Close. It had been so close. What if she had discarded him? He was nothing without his duty to her.

A sudden thought chilled him. If he gave his mother the Wind Dancer, she would no longer need him. No, he must not let such a thing happen.

The hunger raked at his soul. She had sent him away again. The hunger must be fed.

Camille. He would go to Camille and she would feed the hunger.

“The eyes are difficult.” Juliette added a little more blue to her brush. “He has such expressive eyes, doesn’t he? So much wonder…”

Catherine looked over her shoulder at the portrait of Michel standing in a field of flowers. “But I think you’ve caught it.” She sat down on the grass and linked her arms about her legs as she gazed thoughtfully at the pickers working at the bottom of the hill. “You’ve made good progress on it.”

“It’s truly a wonder. I can’t persuade the little Gypsy to pose for me for more than five minutes at a time.” She tilted her head. “It’s one of the best things I’ve ever done. It’s worthy of a gallery showing.” Her lips twisted. “Not that I’ll ever know that pleasure.”

“Why not?”

“Even in this splendid new republic, women’s artistic efforts aren’t considered worthy of public display.”

Catherine shook her head. “But it’s wonderful.”

“That makes no difference, I could have the talent of a Fragonard or Jacques-Louis David and still not be allowed to be hung next to the most amateurish of male daubers. It’s not fair, but that’s the way of life.” She shrugged. “Oh, well, I know it’s good.”

“Are you almost finished?”

“Just a few more touches and the signature.” Juliette wiped her perspiring brow with her sleeve. “I notice Michel’s been spending a good deal of time with Philippe.”

Catherine nodded as she picked a blade of grass and chewed on it. “Philippe’s tried very hard to become friends with Michel since he returned from Marseilles.”

“Have you forgiven him?”

“Forgiven him for being Philippe?” She shrugged. “It isn’t my place to forgive him. It’s Michel’s. And Michel sees nothing to forgive.”

“But you can’t view him in the same fashion?”

“No, but we both love Vasaro.”

“I don’t like it,” Juliette said flatly. “If you keep on in this vein, you’ll end up by marrying the peacock.”

Catherine looked down at the ground. “It’s…a possibility.” Catherine added, “Not soon. But I must have a daughter for Vasaro at some time.”

Juliette shook her head. “You deserve more.”

“Philippe is a cheerful companion, he works hard—”

“And he’s certainly proven he can father any number of progeny.”

Catherine smothered a smile. “Only you would say something so outrageous.” Her smile faded. “I need someone besides Michel. I’m…lonely, Juliette.”

Juliette was silent for a moment before glancing over the top of her easel at Catherine. “Then send for Francois.”

Catherine stiffened. “Francois?”

“Why won’t you talk about Francois, Catherine? I’ve told you what forced him to make the decision at the abbey and I think you understand.”

“I don’t wish to speak of Francois. I know you have a great admiration for him but—”

“You refuse to forgive him when you’ve obviously forgiven Philippe. Even after I told you why it was necessary he withhold his help at the abbey, you still won’t talk about him.” Juliette looked down at the painting. “I’ve been thinking about it and I believe I know why you can’t forgive him.”

“Juliette, I don’t wish—”

“Because you love him. You don’t love Philippe, so it’s easy to forgive his faults.” She shook her head. “Mother of God, at the abbey Francois didn’t even know you. How could he betray you?”

Catherine stood up and jerkily brushed the grass from her gown. “You know nothing of how I feel.”

“Who could know you better? I don’t understand why…” Juliette frowned as she stared thoughtfully at Catherine. “Or perhaps it’s not really a question of forgiveness at all. Did he refuse to stay with you here at Vasaro? Couldn’t you hold him here in your Eden?”

“He wanted to stay! He said so. I—” Catherine broke off and gazed at Juliette defiantly. “And he said there was nothing wrong with my wanting to stay at Vasaro.”

“But you knew he was wrong, didn’t you?” Juliette put her brush down and regretfully shook her head. “Dear heaven, we were all so happy you’d found peace and contentment here at Vasaro we were afraid to probe beneath the surface.”

“I love Vasaro.”

“Who wouldn’t love it? But he still left you, didn’t he? And you know he would leave you again.”

“Yes!” Catherine exploded, driven. “He won’t stay here. He’ll go back to that horrible place and I’ll have to—” Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what she had said. “Mother of God…”

“And you know to admit you love Francois is to be forced to leave Vasaro. Tell me, have you ever written in the journal I gave you?”

“I write in it every day.”

“But you’ve never written on the first page.”

Catherine gazed at her, eyes bright with tears. “Dear God, you’re cruel. Why are you doing this?”