“I’ve given her to Dartois,” he wheezed, smiling perversely, the flush of his skin making him appear half-crazed. “He seemed happy to find her with our precious items. Says she has potential if she will only submit to him. He commanded me to hand her over and I was only too happy after being tired of waiting. He’s less patient a man than me though.” He attempted a gasping laugh and Avers finally released him, throwing the Comte back in his chair and striding away.
He took up pacing, rubbing the back of his neck, staring at the carpet he traversed. Silence descended for a few minutes until Wakeford’s voice came from the doorway.
“Av–Tremaine!”
Avers glanced up, taking in the surprise on his friend’s face.
“What are you doing here?”
“Come to find that harlot he’s taken with,” the Comte called out, still wheezing, his neck coming up in angry red welts.
Ignoring Vergelles’ provoking words, Wakeford came and took Avers to one side.
“What the devil are you doing here? I sent you home.”
“I told you,” Avers said impatiently, “we must find Mademoiselle Cadeaux.”
Wakeford searched his face and then appeared to relent. “Anything?”
“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.”
