Page 34 of Unearthing the Smuggler's Heart
She liked Charles, and took his arm with a little sigh of relief. She thought he had sensed her anxiety on the ride back into the city, and he had done a very pretty job of distracting her with questions about her life in England, and the oddities of a country he had never seen. What a strange thing it had been, to describe her home to a stranger! In all her years of solitude back home with her mother, Jade had never considered that somewhere out across the water, there were people who had never seen England at all; people who found the very concept of England strange and exciting.
Charles was nothing at all like Mathias. She kept thinking that, even after they'd left Mathias behind, back at the little inn on the outskirts of town. He seemed somewhat shy, very reserved, and unerringly polite.
Jade had not met many men in her life, and while Charles was not quite as stunning to look at as Mathias Dempierre, she thought him rather pretty too, which only served to confuse her on the matter of pretty men and all she had learned under Zelda Smith's tutelage.
Mathias was unpredictable and reckless, yes, but she could not imagine either Mathias himself nor this gentle man at her side behaving like those pretty men in the gossip prints she'd helped to sell.
Although she supposed that the women who fell for their traps never thought it possible either. That was something to consider.
She cast a sidelong glance at her companion, blushing a little at her uncharitable thoughts, especially in this moment of selflessness on his part.
Charles had worn his naval uniform for this errand, likely on the assumption that visual cues of authority would save them time. This assumption appeared to be correct, for as they made their way up the short staircase approaching the entryway, both guardsmen straightened their posture, looking for all the world like two little boys who had been caught stealing sweets.
Seeing them behave this way eased some of the jagged edges of worry in Jade's chest. Perhaps everyone else was just as unprepared for day-to-day life as she was.
Wouldn't that be something?
The doors to the armory were thrown open with only a few rapidly spoken words of French between Charles and the men standing guard. Inside, a cavernous hollow of even more gray stone beckoned them closer. It echoed loudly with every step they took, and Jade had to grit her teeth to prevent visibly startling at the sound of the doors swinging shut.
It was cool inside, and the windows were placed far, far up on the buttressed walls, sending down beams of sunlight in isolated shafts. The gray here was different. It was shiny and smooth, and some of it seemed to sparkle a little when the light hit it.
It still felt rather drab, she thought, in comparison to what she had imagined, but it was an improvement on the outer facade.
They walked into the belly of the building, through to a large wooden desk where a small, wiry man sat, poring over an assortment of opened books that he had arranged in a kind of collage over his work surface. His head came up slowly at their approach, almost as though he could not believe the audacity of anyone seeing him there and yet continuing to walk toward the desk anyhow.
There was a short exchange between this man and Charles Monetier. Jade was not fluent in French by any means, but she was able to glean the meaning of their words well enough to grasp at least portions of the conversation.
The exchange began peacefully enough, but once the man behind the desk had retreated into his record books, looking for the listing Charles requested, things became markedly more tense, and the words thrown between the two men grew louder and more strained.
"Personne!"the sallow man kept insisting, every time the Olivier name was mentioned. He shook his head at Charles emphatically, tapping on the book while his glasses trembled on his narrow nose."Personne!"
That meant "No one."
Charles sighed and straightened his posture, gesturing to Jade with his open hand and speaking in a voice that all at once appeared to be much more authoritative, low, and even a little menacing. She could not have directly translated the words he spoke, but the gist of what he said was clear—his authority was not to be questioned.
The man narrowed his eyes at Charles, apparently unintimidated despite being significantly lighter and shorter than his opponent, but in the end slapped one of his five open books shut, seemingly at random, and huffed in defeat. He did not speak again, but instead jerked himself out of his chair and began rapidly walking toward the rear of the room, where access to the inner part of the armory was located.
They took it as an indication that they should follow.
Into the narrow hallway they went, lingering just far enough behind the man so that they might exchange a few words in low voices without being overheard.
"What was that about?" she whispered to him, keeping her eyes trained ahead on the overly upright posture of their guide, lest he scamper too far from their view.
"He says the estate was forfeit to the crown," Charles whispered back, "due to the Oliviers having no living relatives to stake claim to their belongings. I told him you were their heir, a distant niece, and mercifully he did not press for proof."
"Why should it matter, if everything is still in storage?" she wondered aloud. Silently, she wondered,What crown?
"Because," he replied grimly, "everything isn't in storage. Much of it was apparently sold at auction along with the house, and now cannot easily be turned over to you as a claimant. Let us hope that whatever remains here in the armory is what you are looking for. Otherwise, we will have another challenge ahead of us."
Jade blinked, those jagged edges in her chest pressing a little tighter against her ribs. "Oh."
"Are you well?" he asked, giving her a little frown.
"I am...managing," she answered after a moment. "We will persevere."
"Lean on me if you need to," he told her, and lapsed back into silence as they continued their journey deep into the Marseille armory.
If Mathias had spoken those words, she thought, they would have been rich with flirtation and subtext. He would never suggest she lean on him without a bit of a sparkle behind the words. But not Charles Monetier, it seemed. Quiet Commandant Monetier with his tidy combed hair and guileless blue eyes appeared to have meant it in the most innocent way, offering her only the literal support of his strength if she were to feel faint.
