“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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s apartments were situated in a modest street in an unfashionable part of Paris. Avers found them easily enough and paid the unscrupulous landlord to let him in.
The moment he opened the door a barrage of barking sounded. Within seconds a white rocket of fur darted from what Avers took to be a bedchamber.
“There, there, you devilish sprite!” Avers cried out in a booming voice to slow the animal.
It only worked a little, the dog catapulting itself a moment later into Avers’ arms which he opened in anticipation. The dog, whose teeth had been bared just seconds ago, recognised the intruder and transformed into a licking, sniffing, quivering mess.
“Come now.” Avers deposited the dog back onto the floor and patted his little rump.
Lutin immediately trotted over to a couple of empty bowls and nosed one of them hopefully. Avers looked around, and seeing a ewer nearby he filled one bowl with water, and then discovered a biscuit barrel full of dog treats. He scooped a generous handful into a bowl and the poor little dog had his fill of both.
Avers straightened, finally taking in the room before him. “Right, let’s find your mistress, shall we?”
The apartments before him were small and modestly furnished with items that had been carefully selected to fit the petite space. All of it was fairly plain, with a more expensive piece here and there. There were a number of well-thumbed books on a side table next to a tattered green chaise longue, at the end of which a thick blanket lay in swathes. It looked as though the reader had just got up for a glass of wine between chapters.
Scanning the room he saw elements of life littering the surfaces. A vase of dried flowers, a framed miniature of some unknown woman, letters sealed waiting to be sent, a half-burnt candle in its holder. They were all elements of her life. A life he thought he knew, but standing here, he felt he was only aware of it in part.
Did she like to read? Did she stay up late devouring chapters? Where did she pick those dried flowers from? Who was the woman in the frame—a lady dear enough to Emilie that she wished to see her likeness every day?
A deep ache appeared in the depths of his chest. He desired to know all of her and yet at this very moment, she might be in mortal danger. Springing into action, he ignored the feeling that he was invading her private domain, and scoured the room for any clue as to her whereabouts.
That was when he noticed the hat and discarded ribbon on the floor behind the chaise longue. He followed the trail of clothing into the bedroom and on entering was confronted by a mess of clothes and cases and brushes.
On the freshly made bed were garments of all types, thrown and crumpled as though someone had been packing in a rush. Scattered on the floor was a brush, a handheld mirror, two more hats.
Lutin followed Avers, jumping onto the bed into what appeared to be a nest he’d made among the clothes, and gave a bark as if to agree with Avers’ unspoken thoughts. Yes, Mademoiselle Cadeaux had been packing in a hurry.
Avers exhaled heavily, not even realising he had been holding his breath, finally acknowledging the fear he had carried into this room. He had thought he might find Emilie dead in here. The thought, now clearly articulated in his mind, sent a shiver down his back.
He clenched his fists. This was not a scene of violence but of great haste. Turning on his heel, his small white shadow jumping from the bed and trotting behind him, Avers came back into the main room and scanned it again. His eyes stopped on the pile of letters.
Striding over to the table on which they lay, he scooped up the pile and began flipping through the directions written on them. One was to the actress Saint-Val Cadette, care of the Théâtre des Tuileries. Avers clenched his jaw. As he had suspected, the actress had known Mademoiselle Cadeaux. The next was to an unknown lady. He flipped through them faster, hope running dry, distracting him so he almost passed by his own alias. The Duke of Tremaine was scrawled across one letter.
He dropped the rest and turned it over. It wasn’t sealed and the address was missing. His breath quickened. She’d been writing it in a hurry and if it wasn’t sealed, but in the middle of the pile with the others ready to be posted… had she hidden it there for him?
