Page 80 of A Secret Correspondence
“I did not know you had the jewels until you bought this shop.” He blew out a breath. “Look at this place. This house. You will be taken care of, Marie-Louise. It is I who have run out of money. It is I who can no longer afford to pay my housekeeper. There must be jewels in your possession, or you would have had no way to purchase your business to begin with.”
She cringed as the truth of his words crashed down around them all. Her friends looked to her, but she could not lift her gaze to meet theirs. She should have told them earlier, should have admitted to the three items she had kept hidden within the straw of her mattress.
“The fleur-de-lis diamonds are in France,” she bit out.
“Where?” he rasped. “What do you have here? You had something to buy this place.”
“Nothing,” she promised. “Not anymore. I used my aunt’s ring, and it is gone now.” That, at least, was the truth. Paul had been too wise, too cunning to discover her secret. She had thought that by living in a town so far from everyone she knew, it would never be discovered that she had bought the building she lived in, that she was not merely a tenant who paid a quarterly rent.
It was not a typical arrangement. Paul must have grown desperate.
“Where are the rest of your aunt’s jewels?” he asked. “I searched her trunk when we reached England and found nothing.”
She did not want to reveal she had later found them sewn into the lining of her aunt’s gowns the way her mother had sewn them into her own. That was not a detail that would serve Marguerite well if she had any hope of retrieving her mother’s dresses intact.
The knife dug further into her throat. “I found it first and hid it,” she lied. “I thought the ring was pretty and wanted to keep it with me.”
“That cannot be all,” Paul shouted.
Marguerite kept her gaze on the floor, ashamed of her deceit.
The toe of Samuel’s boot caught her eye. It was not so near a moment ago. Had he moved closer? She could not tell. She glanced at Jacob’s and Oliver’s boots as well, noticing none of them were near the door. How long had each of them been slowly inching forward?
Paul continued to yell. “Tell me now! Where did your mother?—”
Silence filled the room. His abrupt halt was jarring.
“Your mother,” Paul said, his voice thoughtful, as though he had fallen deep into contemplation. “She had them when we escaped, did she not? When she was shot in the street, she had the jewelry. What did you do? Nothing. You could not, for your aunt and cousin had both been killed by the mob. Your father had already been executed.”
Each new reminder was a slash of memory in her head, a bolt of pain in her heart.
“It was only you and I left, and I took you with me,” Paul said in thought. “We hid in the mud until it was safe to journey to the water. The diamonds were with your mother. Are they still?”
Marguerite’s heart hammered, beating rapidly against her chest. “Of course not. Whoever buried her likely took them.”
“If that was the case, you would have mentioned so long ago,” he said easily, aware he had cornered her now. “They were hidden on her person so she could travel freely without garnering attention. I know it was the plan, because I was there when the plans were being made. Only where?”
“You will never know,” she seethed. It was difficult to have this conversation without facing him. She wanted nothing more than to look into Paul’s eyes and promise he would not receivethat which he sought. She wanted to vow it in a way that he would believe her, even if he hoped she was wrong. The desire was strong, pulling at her sharply. She twisted against the ropes which bound her hands, kicking her feet, though they did not move.
“I shall, because you are going to come with me to France. Together, we are going to find your mother’s grave, and we will find the diamonds.”
Bile rose in her throat, sending a bitter wave through Marguerite’s mouth. She noticed Samuel’s toes tapping faintly and lifted her gaze to find his eyes on her. His brows went up in quick succession, and Marguerite wasn’t sure how she knew this, but she could feel something was about to occur. Paul had learned what he needed to know, and the time for conversation was at an end.
Paul leaned forward, close enough to whisper. “You will help me, or I will hurt the people you care about, Marie-Louise.”
She ignored him, keeping her eyes glued to Samuel. She tried to mouth the word,Now?
Samuel gave a nod. “Now,” he said aloud.
Marguerite did the only thing she could think of. She threw her head back, away from the knife, and smashed it into Paul’s face. He cried out, releasing her immediately. The knife sliced along her jaw as it pulled away, the shallow cut stinging in the open air.
The men moved forward immediately, each in a different direction. Jacob circled around Marguerite’s chair and hit Paul’s wrist, sending the knife clattering to the floor. He lifted his elbow and brought his fist down over Paul’s temple sharply, knocking him out. Paul slumped to the floor in a heavy heap, where Oliver immediately bent over him with rope, tying his arms behind his back.
Samuel picked up the knife and began sawing at the ropes binding Marguerite’s hands together. The moment they wereloose, she brought them in front of her and rubbed the tender skin as he worked at the rope around her ankles.
“The man is mad,” Samuel said when he got the first rope free and moved to the second. She watched him work, her heart throbbing from the disorder of the attack. Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly, then let out a shaky breath. Once he was finished, he rose, taking her hand and tugging her to stand beside him.
He looked down into her eyes, a question in his that she could not read. What did he think of her now? Was he disgusted by the things Paul had revealed?
