“No—except he says Dartois commanded him to give the woman over.” Commanded. Something about that didn’t sit right with Avers.
“Well, it’s the deuce of a mess out there,” Wakeford replied in an undertone. “The shooter’s refusing to admit any relationship with the Comte or his men. I’ve had it from Terry and Brown that they’ve been unable to find the papers here, so I’ve come as soon as I could to confirm it.”
“Curse it!” Avers hissed, the feeling of doom growing with every passing moment. “What does it all mean?”
“We have to find the papers here, otherwise we have no evidence, and there’s nothing to connect all of this together.”
A sick feeling entered Avers’ stomach. No papers. No connection with the Comte or Dartois. No Mademoiselle Cadeaux. What had started out with such promise had turned into an utter disaster.
“I’ll check in with my men.” Wakeford made to signal Terry and Brown.
“It’s no use,” Avers replied harshly. “They’ve found nothing.”
“But how can that be? I’ve had this place under watch night and day. The papers have to be here.”
“Well, they aren’t.” Avers raked a hand savagely through his hair, pulling it painfully, but enjoying feeling anything but the fear over Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s welfare. They’d played their hand and lost and there appeared no way to turn the game.
Game!
It wasn’t a game. It was her life. Hers. The woman Avers… he couldn’t stop his mind running to all the worst scenarios. What if they hurt her? What if they took her… life?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Idon’t know you,” Mademoiselle Saint-Val Cadette repeated, staring at her own reflection in the dressing table mirror, not even deigning to glance at her male visitor.
Avers had realised on leaving Vergelles’ residence that the best place to start trying to find Mademoiselle Cadeaux was at the Théâtre des Tuileries. If he could persuade her friend Mademoiselle Saint-Val Cadette to trust him, he might just discover where she lived. He had confronted her in her dressing room, but the lady was not inclined to be helpful.
“As I told you,” he said from between clenched teeth, trying his hardest to keep his voice level as his impatience spiked. “My name is Tremaine.”
The actress tilted her head at various angles, observing all aspects of her visage, in the mirror before her. “What was her name—Cadiz? No doubt some minor player. I can’t be expected to remember all those who tread the boards behind me.” She put a finger to the corner of her mouth to wipe away a smudge of rouge.
“Cadeaux—I’m concerned for her welfare.”
The actress sighed, assuming the pose of one of her characters, a lavish open silk robe hanging carelessly from her pale shoulders. It draped over her body like a Greek goddess, falling across her limbs, her stockinged legs peeping daringly out at him.
“And how do I know that to be true—that you are seeking to ensure the welfare of this… Cadeaux you speak of?”
“I give you my word as a gentleman. She was here barely a month ago attending one of your performances. I have it on good authority that she’s known here.”
Cadette sighed again, her pale decolletage heaving and a diamond necklace she wore rising to be seen above the line of her chemise’s ruffle. The stones caught the candlelight winking and hinting that the actress had a rich admirer.
Despite it being afternoon, there was no natural light in here, the only window high up in the wall and covered in thick brocade curtains. Wax candles flickered and glowed over almost every surface in the room and their heat and smoke mingled with the scent of the actress’ perfume and the fumes from her clay pipe to create a heady atmosphere. It was one in which Avers was fairly certain many an admirer had come to seduce the famed tragedienne.
But Avers wasn’t here for that. He was here to save a life.
“I only wish,” he said, a hint of the desperation he felt in his tone, “to know where I might find her—her lodgings—to ensure she is safe and well.”
“I thought the whole of Paris knew—” Cadette took up a feather powder puff by its little wooden handle and blotted it in a pot of cosmetics before applying it to her face. “She is companion to the Comte de Vergelles. Why don’t you ask him?”
Avers’ ears pricked up and the slump of his shoulders gave way to sudden alertness. “You say you don’t know her and now you do?”
The actress stilled her ministrations.
“The Comte has thrown her off—or so he says—handed her over to one of his friends. But I have reason to believe she has not gone willingly.”
“Ha!” Cadette shot him a condescending look. “I am sure no woman likes to be handed over like a prize horse.” She turned back, the sheepishness at being caught out gone, and resumed powdering her face. “And you wish to become her new protector, is that it? Perhaps she does not want one.”
“I hold no such pretensions, and have no doubt she would not want one, as you say. I only desire to ensure her safety and I believe her in danger.” Avers’ mouth went dry at the thought. “Please—please help me.”
The actress put down her powder puff and turned to face him. Her eyes locked onto his and she gave him a hard, measuring stare.
“What you forget, you little Englishman, with your advantages, is the world she comes from. You are not of it, and you cannot possibly understand it, nor what she needs to keep her safe. You nobility are all the same—you cause more harm with your so-called honourable intentions, not thinking of the consequences to those who have neither birth nor fortune to fall back on. One man decides he wants her, then another, now you. You would do better to leave her in our world and go back to your own—at least, if I knew her, that is what I would think.”
She turned back to her dressing table and Avers recognised he had been dismissed.
“Please take my card.” He put it on a side table. “And if you should change your mind and choose to remember Mademoiselle Cadeaux and where I might find her, you may send me a missive.”
Mademoiselle Saint-Val Cadette waved her little rouge brush at him to send him on his way and he reluctantly bowed and left the room. Short of taking the woman by the shoulders and shaking the information from her, he was at a dead end.
He was in one of the main passageways now, leading past what he assumed was the side door from which he’d seen Mademoiselle Cadeaux leave the theatre all those weeks ago. Avers was just about to ascend some steps into the front part of the theatre when a hand reached out from the dark and tugged at his coat tails.
If the hand had exerted any real strength, Avers might have struck out at the interloper, and forced them off. As it was, the tug felt tentative, and when he turned to the cause, he found himself facing a girl.
The lass was likely no more than thirteen, standing back in the shadows of a doorway, hands fidgeting with each other as she looked nervously up at him.
“May I be of service, Mademoiselle?” Avers asked, taking a step back so as not to loom over her.
“I—” She shrank back, doubting her impulsive decision to stop the nobleman.
“It’s all right,” he said quickly, softening his tone. “You have nothing to fear from me—what is it you want?”
The girl’s large blue eyes watched him like luminescent pools and then, discerning whatever she needed to see in his face, she spoke in quick common French. “Mademoiselle Cadeaux, she is a good woman, she is kind to me. Mademoiselle got me this job sweeping backstage. She gives me her old clothes and money for food when I need it, and she keeps the gentlemen away. She says I don’t need them with her to look after me.” The girl was not pausing for breath. “I heard you speaking to Mademoiselle Saint-Val Cadette and she would not help you, but I—I know that Mademoiselle Cadeaux spoke of an Englishman. She said—” The girl broke off.
“Yes?”
“She said you were good and I—I do not want Mademoiselle Cadeaux to be in danger. You must help her. When I went to her apartments earlier today, she would not answer the door, but I could hear her dog Lutin barking within. She does not go anywhere without her dog. I am so worried.”
Avers pushed the reappearing feeling of cold dread down, trying to ignore whatever assumptions the girl’s revelations were setting off in his head. “Her apartments.” Avers stepped forward without thinking, making the girl flinch. “Where are they?”
She gave him the address in a less than wealthy neighbourhood in Paris.
“Thank you.” Avers pressed several gold coins into the girl’s hands. “I am in debt to you, dear girl.”
She nodded dumbly, eyes wider than ever, and watched as he turned and ran to the exit.
Finally, Avers had a heading.
