Page 69 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
Martel’s rapid pace suited Gilles just fine that evening, more so when the young man stopped talking and focused on walking. They reached the Daubins’ house faster than Gilles would have on his own. It was not until his lanky friend turned the corner, leaving Gilles alone before the front steps, that he realized he had not come up with an excuse to give the Daubins for his visit.
He ran up the steps and knocked before he lost his nerve. What could he ask Monsieur Daubin? The newest batch of soap had started today, though he wouldn’t usually make a house call to ask after it.
The cook answered the door instead of the footman. For a moment, the middle-aged woman stared at him. Her face paled. “Yes?”
“Good evening. Is—is the family at dinner?” He shuffled his feet under her owl-like stare.
“They are not.”
“Is themademoiselleat home? I wished to speak with her.” He toyed with thenavettesin his pocket. If he got them out, the cook might insist on taking them to Caroline herself and turn him away. “It is a matter of importance.” His smile did not feel convincing.
“You are Gilles Étienne.”
“Yes,madame.”
The cook’s eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down, then glanced over her shoulder. “If you’ll follow me to the salon.”
Praise the heavens. She allowed him to step through and slammed the door behind him. Gilles flinched at the crash. Then she marched him down the corridor, past the small front parlor where the Daubins usually entertained callers. The woman practically shoved him into the large salon where they’d gathered after dinner all those months ago. A fire burned in the hearth, but no one occupied the room.
“If you will please wait here.” The strain in the woman’s voice put Gilles on edge.
Voices sounded in the front hall. The cook ran from the room and pulled the door shut behind her. Gilles stood in the middle of the salon, unsure if he should sit since he had not been invited to. He removed his hat before taking the package ofnavettesfrom his pocket. An eerie silence permeated the chamber. He couldn’t even make out the ticking of the clock on the mantel.
Gilles wandered over to the writing desk in one corner, where Caroline had sat much of the evening he’d come to dinner. A page sat on top with a quill in the inkwell. The date, address, and “ChèreSylvainne” topped the paper in confident, flowing penmanship. He set down the packet ofnavettesto trace a finger over the lines of writing.
Sylvainne. That would be her cousin in Fontainebleau. He wished she’d finished more of the letter. What he wouldn’t give to know the thoughts running through her head once in a while.
The door opened. Gilles straightened and stepped back from the desk, lest anyone think him encroaching on her privacy. He left thenavettesfor her to find when she went back to her writing.
A slender, balding man stepped in and closed the door softly behind him. He wore a simple black robe that reached to the floor, with tabs of cloth about the collar.
“Madamewishes to ...” The man’s eyes locked on Gilles.
Gilles’s mouth went dry.
“Aie pitié de moi,” the man breathed, backing up and fumbling for the door handle. “Lord have mercy.”
A priest. Here, in Caroline’s home.
The man darted out the door, rapid footsteps echoing down the corridor. Gilles’s nails dug into the brim of his hat. That wasn’t ... Couldn’t have been ... Surely ...
Light purple cotton drifted into the room. “Gilles. This is unexpected.” Caroline’s tense smile did not reach her eyes.
Gilles dropped his hat. He crossed the distance between them and snatched her by the shoulders. “Que diable,Caroline! Have you lost your mind?”
Her face hardened, and she shook off his hands. “I am not the one shouting. Don’t accuse me of losing my mind.”
“A priest, Caroline? You’re harboring one of them?” He clapped a hand over his face and retreated until he hit the sofa. Martel was in this neighborhood sniffing about like a foxhound. His insides clenched as a thought dawned. “That was Franchicourt, wasn’t it?”
Caroline stood with hands calmly folded. “We agreed not to speak of him again.”
“I didn’t know you were housing him.” He grabbed fistfuls of hair as he leaned against the back of the sofa. There was a traitor in this house, and it was only a matter of time before Martel discovered him. What would happen to the Daubins? The guillotine blade flashed, sharp and ravenous. Nooses swung heavy on lampposts. Still forms lay in the streets. Blood seeped across her soft, olive skin. “How long has he been here?”
“Since his previous refuge was compromised.”
More than a month. If that group who had ransacked the house knew the priest had come here, they would have swarmed. Gilles rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. What did he do now? Lie to protect a priest and save Caroline? And his own family was more at risk than ever. “My friend Martel is scouring this district looking for that priest. He will find him eventually. I don’t understand why you would put yourselves in this danger.”
Caroline folded her arms. “And I do not understand why you still call that rat a friend.”
