Page 107 of Never a Duchess
Baudelaire groaned. “So, you’re angry because you saw your name scrawled in a little book. We did not pursue you because it was clear you wanted Lord Sheridan, and Valmary owed him a favour.”
“I’m angry because Christian confirmed what I’d suspected. My mother’s name was recorded in your stupid book.”
Lillian shot Callan a surprised look.
He was not so alarmed.
Based on the men’s disregard for their lovers’ feelings, there must be many victims plotting revenge. And Christian must have played a role, else he’d not be dead.
A deathly silence ensued.
Daventry said he would give the signal when it was time to storm the building. That they should listen carefully so they could repeat the facts to the magistrate.
“Surely you remember her name.” Madame Delafont sounded so cold, so calm, so confident. “Angelique Grellier. A woman with the voice of an angel. A woman who once sang for Queen Charlotte. A woman fed poison by you three years ago because she spurned your advances.”
Moira Maclean,Callan silently cried.
You murdered her too!
“Fed Angelique poison?” Baudelaire gave an incredulous snort. “You have lost your mind. Why would I hurt her? I’m the one who gave her the funds to return to France.”
“Liar! You were consumed with jealousy when she chose Mr Valmary. The truth is in your notebook.”
“I did not kill Angelique,” he insisted. “She came to me for help because she wanted to go home. I did not know you were her daughter until Lord Sheridan told me a few days ago, or that she had died aboardThe Sovereign.”
A keen cry rent the air. “My mother didn’t just die. She was murdered and you will pay the price for your treachery, monsieur.”
“Wait! Don’t shoot! I’ll tell you what I know.”
Daventry pointed to the door. “If she shoots him, she’ll hang. We must prevent her from firing. He’ll kill her if she misses.”
Lillian stepped forward. “I shall go inside and—”
“For the love of God, I’ll nae let ye enter alone.”
“We’ll all go,” Daventry whispered. “But let Miss Ware enter first. We’ll be right behind her.”
“Perhaps ye didnae hear me the first time. Let the woman shoot the bastard, but I’ll nae risk losing Lillian.”
Daventry conceded, and they all crept up to the open door.
Baudelaire sat slumped in a chair in the middle of the large circular room. Blood trickled from the cut above his left eye. The truckle bed in the corner said the Frenchman had stayed the night. As did the whiff of beef stew coming from the black iron pot over the fire.
“You’ll tell me the truth from the beginning.” Madame Delafont wore men’s clothes, her long black hair shorn to the shoulders. She shoved a glass bottle into Baudelaire’s hand. “And then you will drench yourself in perfume and we shall see what fate has in store.”
Callan prayed there was enough poison in the perfume to kill the Frenchman. But then he wondered how the woman had come by the toxin, and a hundred questions ran through his mind.
Madame Delafont backed away from Baudelaire, though she kept the pistol trained on the devil. “Why did you kill her?”
Daventry cleared his throat. “Lower your weapon, madame. I promise you there are better ways to deal with scoundrels.”
The lady gasped and swung around, taking her eyes off Baudelaire.
“Watch out,” Lillian cried when the Frenchman jumped off his seat and charged forward, grabbing Madame Delafont around the neck and stealing her pistol.
The perfume bottle hit the floor, shards of glass shattering, the noxious scent spilling out.
“Move aside else I will kill her.” Baudelaire shuffled forward. “Let me leave and I’ll release her at the gate.”
