Page 90 of The Art of Theft
“I’m sorry, Monsieur, but you must stand back from the gate. I have my orders—and a loaded revolver.”
“How dare you? My uncle is the president of the Third Republic. Get out of my way.”
“Stand back!”
Charlotte, despite her warnings to Livia to stay near the wall, tiptoed so that she could see out of a window.
The guard, who had set his torch in a cresset by the wrought iron gate, raised his revolver. But the guests pressed forward, led by the irate nephew of the president. The guard fired his revolver at the sky. And while he still had his arm raised, half a dozen guests fell upon him, wrestled the revolver from his grip, and tied him up with the sleeves of his own jacket.
The president’s nephew, revolver in hand, shot the padlock on the gate. Charlotte ducked in case the bullet ricocheted. But next came the sounds of cheers and hasty footsteps pounding over the bridge.
Even spoiled, half-drunk young men could be useful from time to time.
“Let’s go,” said Lord Ingram, “before they decide to lock the gates on the bridge.”
The crowd pushed and shoved, but did nothing particularly unruly. Once over the bridge, the more impatient guests ran toward the gate. Charlotte and co. were only halfway there when they heard new shouts.
The front gate, then, must have been locked.
They, too, picked up their paces, not toward the front gate to their south but to the fences in the east.
Mr. Marbleton was up and over the fence in less than a second. Charlotte undid a number of hidden buttons on the skirt of her ball gown so that it wouldn’t impede the movement of her limbs. Lord Ingram and Lieutenant Atwood raised her up until she could put her foot on a cross railing near the top.
Lord Ingram climbed up and gave her a hand—or rather, he gave her laden bustle a hand, lifting it clear of the finials. She pivoted around carefully and lowered herself. Mr. Marbleton caught her around the waist and set her down.
The maharani was the next. Mrs. Watson’s petticoat caught ona finial, but without any hesitation she tore it loose. Livia waved aside everyone gathered to catch her and leaped off, landing in a perfect crouch position and then bouncing upright.
Now that all the ladies had scaled the obstacle, Lieutenant Atwood climbed over.
Lord Ingram, who could have done so at the same time, did not. “Lady Ingram is at the château. I should remain and make sure she’s all right,” he said without any inflection to his tone.
“No!” Mrs. Watson and Livia said in unison.
Then everyone, except Lord Ingram, turned toward Charlotte.
“Be careful then, and be quick. We’ll see you in the morning,” she said quietly.
He nodded and disappeared into the dark.
“How could you let him go?” Livia whispered vehemently.
“What was I to do? Climb back over the fence and drag him over it? Let’s go.”
Their carriages were parked near a dirt lane that Mr. Marbleton had discovered on a previous outing. It cut across a large pasture to join a road that led to a village farther west and then the highway to Paris.
Livia, Mr. Marbleton, Mrs. Watson, and the maharani climbed into one carriage.
“Your carriage is closer to the dirt lane. You go first. We’ll follow after a bit,” Charlotte said as she closed the door for them.
She climbed into the other carriage, Lieutenant Atwood coming in after her. “It’s good to put some space between our two carriages,” he said.
He did not ask anything about Lord Ingram.
“So how does one disarm multiple opponents at a distance while barely lifting one’s fingers?” she said after a while.
Lieutenant Atwood, who’d been glancing out of the window, turned toward her. “I wish I knew enough to tell you.”
No questions on how long she planned to wait.
