“You’ve arranged all this in the last few days?” asked Wakeford, astonished.
“I’d have the papers for you as well,” Avers said ruefully, “if it wasn’t for an untimely interruption by the Comte and Dartois. “It’s only thanks to Mademoiselle Cadeaux that I was not caught in the act of stealing them.”
“What?” Wakeford demanded in astounded accents. “The mistress?”
The title hit Avers’ chest uncomfortably.
“The woman is not party to their dealings. I had to tell her what I was doing when she caught me in Dartois’ study trying to retrieve the papers. She helped me evade capture. When we arrest the others she must go free.”
If Wakeford had been less dazed he might have noted the warmth, almost fierceness, in his friend’s voice.
“I suppose if you vouch for her, and she’s not at this meeting that’s been arranged, then there’s no point bringing her into it.”
“She isn’t a part of it,” Avers reiterated.
But Wakeford was already onto his next thought. “Where is the meeting?”
Avers spent the next several minutes explaining exactly what had transpired at Dartois’ hunting lodge, including the test of his loyalty and the plans for the meeting with the Commissioners.
“Dash it, but they’re brazen fellows to hold up an English peer in such a fashion! I can only be sorry I let you go alone without support. I had no notion they would be so dangerous. And such an enclosed space for sale of the papers. They must have no fear of being caught.”
“Brazen appears to be their modus operandi,” Avers said, thinking of the ambush in Buc, “but we can be thankful for it in the case of the meeting with the Commissioners. It should mean they’re unlikely to get away if you send people with me to arrest them.”
“With you?” Wakeford dropped his hand from where he’d been rubbing his chin. “Gracious no, man! You won’t be going anywhere near that meeting. No sense in it! If they’re not afraid to hold an English Duke at gunpoint on the road, there’s no telling what they might do when they’re backed into a corner. Far better to keep you out of it entirely.
“I’ll send a note to Lord Stormont and Viscount Weymouth directly to apprise them of the situation and request a retinue of men to be positioned in the gardens ready for the meeting—discreetly of course—and as soon as the Comte and his men show their hand we’ll bring them in.”
“You’re sure I won’t be needed? I have no problem seeing this through if it should result in their apprehension.” Avers wasn’t sure he wished to leave the work so wholly out of his control, not when it would indirectly affect Mademoiselle Cadeaux. The Comte needed to be taken into custody without issue if she was to be kept safe.
“I’m positive. You’ve put yourself in harm’s way enough for me already.” He reached over and put a hand on Avers’ shoulder, patting him soundly. “For that I’m immeasurably grateful. Mind you, if I had known there was still something afoot, I wouldn’t have let you go to the hunting lodge at all.”
“I knew the situation wasn’t done yet.”
“I should have listened to your gut,” Wakeford replied ruefully. “You have more of a knack for this sort of work than I would have thought—espionage that is.”
“I’m not sure what that says of my character,” Avers replied, with a mock-frown. “Not a gentlemanly pursuit with its falsehoods and trickery. But seriously—you are absolutely sure I am not needed for the exchange? I’m happy to continue playing my part if it will aid their arrest. It could be our only chance to get them.”
“I’m well aware of that, and yes, I’m certain. You’ve done your part and I’m confident that now we have a solid meeting arranged, we’ll be able to bring them to justice. My reputation and my neck will be forever grateful to you.” He rubbed at the skin between his chin and his cravat.
Avers refrained from saying what was in his mind. It was not only Wakeford’s safety he was concerned about.
“It’s the Comte you want,” said Avers unnecessarily. “He’s the ringleader, so you must make sure you pick him up at the earliest opportunity.”
Once Vergelles was under arrest there would be no further danger to Mademoiselle Cadeaux.
“I know. Thank you.”
Wakeford rose and Avers reluctantly followed suit, realising his friend’s mind was made up—he wouldn’t let him take part in the meeting on the Île de la Cité.
“You’ve saved my skin.” Wakeford threw his arms around Avers to embrace him. “I shan’t ever be able to repay you.”
“Just get the Comte.” Avers broke his friend’s hold, nodding, the business settled.
But his feelings were no easier than they had been all night when they parted. The prospect of remaining at the Tremaine’s Hôtel while the Comte and his accomplices were apprehended was intolerable.
It was not just their fates which hung in the balance. Nor was it only Wakeford’s. It was the fate of Mademoiselle Cadeaux—the woman who had aided Avers at the expense of her safety. The woman who had proved herself a lady of character despite his judgements. The woman who was increasingly consuming his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to fight it.
The idea of that woman being in danger, and Avers being unable to aid her, was almost too much to bear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The fine weather Paris had been enjoying since Avers’ return to the city broke on Tuesday afternoon. Grey clouds crowded in above, obscuring the sun, but they failed to release the rain they threatened. A mist came up the Seine, creeping out into the streets, clinging to the buildings like some ominous being. It provoked an odd closeness in the air, one of cold and damp. Everything about the atmosphere of the city became heavy and depressive.
It was the perfect backdrop for an exchange of stolen British documents. Avers couldn’t have written it better himself—though, perhaps, he might have chosen a different hero. For despite Wakeford’s best efforts to keep his friend out of any further dealings with the Comte and his circle, Avers was entering the Place Dauphine on the Île de la Cité in person for the exchange.
Both Wakeford and Avers had naively assumed that the Comte and his men would meet the faux Duke of Tremaine with the papers at the rendezvous point. It had been the lynchpin of Wakeford’s plan to keep Avers out of the situation. However, shortly before the meeting, a note appeared on the Tremaine hall table, reading as follows:
Our friend,
We hope your ankle has sufficiently healed from your unfortunate fall to undertake our agreed business on Tuesday at 2 o’clock.
You’re invited to attend us at our known address before the meeting. We will journey together to rendezvous with our mutual friends and offer them our gift.
We hope it will be less eventful than our meeting in Buc—
The sardonic tone and the mention of the meeting at Buc had all the strokes of Dartois’ hand. When the Tremaine servants had been questioned as to who had delivered the note, none could confirm having received it. According to the retainers it had simply appeared in the hall. The idea that the Comte’s circle was not only able to communicate amongst themselves without being caught, but could enter the very home of another, without any sign, was disturbing.
