The second woman emitted a half-cry of joy and came forward to embrace the first, her voice breaking, speaking so rapidly Avers couldn’t follow. Together, they headed back towards Mademoiselle Cadeaux and the elderly gentleman, who still stood talking.
Avers let out a sigh of relief. He’d almost been caught. Now was his chance to slip away, and while he wanted to stay to see what else unfolded, he couldn’t risk it. Taking the opportunity, while the four individuals greeted one another, he kept to the wall as he hurried out of the alleyway and onto the main road encircling the Île de la Cité.
As soon as he left the narrow street, the air grew sweeter and the light from the heavens seemed able to penetrate the darkness once again. He walked a little way along the road and then stopped and turned to watch the entrance to the alley.
What had he just witnessed?
That was no meeting to sell secret information. While Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s involvement could explain why none of the Comte’s correspondence contained incriminating information, because she could be communicating on his behalf, it did not explain this night-time escapade.
Whatever these ‘gifts’ were that she was handing out, it couldn’t be secrets from the British government. Such a thing would mean nothing to these people who were more concerned where their next meal would come from than the running of the country.
Could she be enlisting them for some plot of the Comte’s connected with the recently stolen papers?
Avers could not figure out the truth, but what he did know was that this little skirmish had presented more questions than answers. Was Mademoiselle Cadeaux an unwitting pawn of the Comte’s? Or was she in fact, the queen herself?
CHAPTER TEN
When Mademoiselle Cadeaux finally emerged from the dark alleyway on the Île de la Cité, Avers was waiting. She made her way south over the river and then turned west before procuring a chair. Avers followed suit, keeping his distance, until Mademoiselle Cadeaux reached Faubourg Saint-Germain and approached one of the hôtels.
It had seemed the gentlemanly thing to do—to see her home. She might have a penchant for wandering alone through the Parisian streets at night and be a suspect in the case of the missing papers, but that was no reason to leave her to the mercies of Paris’ vagrants.
Avers wondered if the residence, an older looking hôtel built in the reign of Louis XIV, was one paid for by the Comte or the noble’s own. Collaring a link boy who was walking past and offering him a coin, Avers found out it was indeed Vergelles’ Hôtel. So, the woman was returning to her master after her night-time excursion. Interesting.
No doubt she had her own apartments too, paid for by the Comte. When Avers had mentioned the financial benefits of her arrangement with the French noble, he had been met with a cool reception. He’d thought the reaction borne from shame, and he brushed off any guilt at causing her discomfort. He had just been pointing out the truth.
Across the way, a servant finally answered the door and let Mademoiselle Cadeaux in. Once she was safely inside, Avers headed for home.
He walked. He needed to think.
Rather than discovering answers on his reconnaissance mission this evening he had found more questions. So, by the time he made it back to the Hôtel du Tremaine he had resolved to return to the Île de la Cité the following day to discover exactly what Mademoiselle Cadeaux had been doing there.
Returning to the narrow streets of the island early the next morning, Avers rapped on the doors of the dwellings Mademoiselle Cadeaux had visited. The first door returned no answer, but the second two revealed bleary-eyed inhabitants who eyed him with suspicion. The woman who had been addressed as Jeanne, and the old man—gave him nothing. Even the bribe of a few coins had no effect on them.
“Non,” they said adamantly. “I don’t know who this Mademoiselle Cadeaux is.”
Apparently they had no recollection of the woman who had met them late last night. They claimed not to know who she was at all. Even when Avers had described Mademoiselle Cadeaux and the specifics of her visit last night, they had refused to identify her.
Finally, he tried the first door again. Just as he was about to turn away, it was answered, and the young woman Mademoiselle Cadeaux had initially spoken to last night appeared.
She was even younger than he had realised last night. No more than fourteen, with bright green eyes and a slender figure. No, he was wrong—she was thin. And now he could see her clearly, he realised as she opened the door and came forward, that she was limping. Her left foot dragged, no movement in it, hence her slow response to his knock.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle.” Avers bowed towards her, giving his friendliest smile. “I have come on behalf of Mademoiselle Cadeaux to ensure her gifts were all that was expected last night.”
“Mademoiselle Cadeaux!” the young girl breathed in reverential tones. “Oh yes, she has been most generous.” The girl’s face beamed with joyful innocence. “Both Mademoiselle and the other actresses. She said Mademoiselle Saint-Val Cadette had given her admirers’ gifts as well and the lady has many! I will go and get bread this morning for myself and Réne.” The young girl pointed over Avers’ shoulder and he turned to see the old man who had been mute to him a short while ago, watching him warily from his doorway.
“I am just waiting for my aching to subside and then I will go.” She gestured to her lame leg, but to Avers’ surprise, continued to grin joyfully.
“An excellent idea,” Avers replied, smiling back at her.
Mere yards from this alley the Concierge could be found, dispensing justice and housing royal prisoners. The irony was not lost on Avers. These people had been served a far harsher judgement in life than the political prisoners nearby.
Suddenly, the hurt of his heartbreak, though no less painful, shifted to a different place in his mind and the new perspective made it somewhat more bearable.
“They are very kind ladies,” Avers said, pondering on the admirers’ gifts, and hoping it might provoke a little more explanation. Already though, he was realising the purpose of Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s visit here last night was the furthest thing removed from selling secret papers.
“They are, oh, they are,” the girl said in the same breathy, awed tones. “Mademoiselle Cadeaux has insisted on coming to us once a sennight to give us the money the actresses receive from their admirers since last December. That is when the grain shortage happened, and we could not affor—”
“Béatrice!”
Avers jumped. The old man had appeared at his elbow.
He spoke in rapid-fire French to the girl and Avers failed to follow. But the result was written in her expression—she suddenly looked at Avers with fear.
“Are you… ” She trailed off, then the old man spoke under his breath and Avers caught the title, Comte.
Stepping back to show he meant no harm, as the old man and Béatrice huddled together in the doorway, Avers inclined his head saying, “I am not the Comte de Vergelles.”
The old man still looked suspicious. An interesting reaction.
“You have found me out though,” Avers said ruefully to the old man, deciding some version of the truth would be best to try and prevent these people speaking to Mademoiselle Cadeaux of his visit. “I have recently made the acquaintance of Mademoiselle Cadeaux and I find myself… admiring her. When I saw her leave the theatre last night alone I worried and so I followed her here to ensure she was safe. I am afraid that when I did so my curiosity was piqued and so I decided to come back and find out why she had visited.”
“Friends,” the old man grunted.
Avers paused. Who was the old man talking about—his relationship with the Comte’s mistress?
“Mademoiselle Cadeaux has not forgotten us.”
Avers looked about himself with fresh eyes and a dawning realisation. Had Mademoiselle Cadeaux once lived here, in this dark and dirty alleyway, on the underbelly of Paris?
“Of course. She is a remarkable woman,” Avers said. “And may I also give you a gift?” He reached inside his cloak and withdrew a purse full of coins, holding them out.
The sight of this girl—her bare and dirty home behind her, the worn clothes she wore and the lack of flesh in her cheeks—pulled at Avers’ heart. He was rarely confronted with such blatant poverty. Even his servants were better dressed and fed than this old man and girl. What kind of future awaited them?
“Non.” The old man put a protective arm around the girl and raised his hand.
“But I may buy flowers with this,” Béatrice protested. “Please, Réne.”
“Flowers?” Avers queried.
“I sell flowers on the Pont Neuf,” said the girl brightly, “but I cannot always afford to buy them. Mademoiselle’s gift will pay for bread, Réne, but with this gift, I could go to Les Halles for flowers from Provence.”
“Then take it.” Avers pushed it into her hands, ignoring Réne’s obvious distrust. “I am not the Comte—can you not hear my English accent?” he asked in a tone to provoke amusement.
Béatrice grinned at him, clutching the coin purse to her chest, and even Réne relented a little.
“That man is evil,” he muttered.
