Page 31 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
“My brother could not,” the girl said. “He was watched when he came to meet you here in April.”
“I was ill in April,” Gus whispered, wondering how much the young woman knew of her brother’s association with her.
“I come instead to tell you to beware as you leave.”
Inès Bechard’s older brother Luc ran his own estate and produced fine Chenin blanc, which Aunt Cecily bought by the barrel. Luc Bechard also sent his wines—and information for Gus—along the Loire River to the Atlantic coastal ports. “What happened to him?”
“He was followed from the square outside. After much diversion, he lost them. An ugly, slender man with a long nose.”
“Anything of use from the Loire?”
“My brother says to tell you all is quiet for the swallows.” Code for military increases in the forts to the sea near St. Nazaire.
“Any other news?” Gus raised her brows. The entire network knew that Amber St. Antoine was missing and everyone searched for her.
“None.”
Gus nodded. “A bientôt.”
Inès gave her a small smile as she scrambled to her feet and picked up her towel. “I accompanied your aunt’s order north. This vintage is superb. Stay well.”
*
Gus took hertime leaving the bath. No one else had entered, and at that, she took heart. Still, she was on guard and made much of drying her short hair and donning her clothes.
Outside, the sunlight hit her hard. She squinted into the brilliance. The maple trees were taking on new buds. A few birds chirped somewhere nearby. The refuse dumps at the far corner stank. The night soil man had not come on his rounds last night as he was supposed to do. That was not new. Paris was filled with filth, and the outlyingfaubourgswere worse. No one wanted to pay the taxes. The Bourbons had put too high a price on each citizen’s contributions to the monarch’s wealth. So now the kings and queens of France were not missed. Only the chaos that erupted without them in charge was. Bonaparte had a plan to cover the open sewers and clean the streets. But many thought he was as dangerous to the health of the French as the blood that ran in the streets and the offal that sat in the gutters.
Despite the stench, standing across from Gus, lingering as they ate baguettes, were two men. They were far too welldressed. Neither as servants at the baths or for the local citizenry could they be taken. They conversed with each other in solemn tones, but their roving eyes betrayed their mission. Every person who emerged from the baths was their favorite subject. Including her.
Gus knew at once who and what they were. Vaillancourt’s men. One of the two was a short, ugly, pockmarked fellow with the longest nose Gus had ever seen.
They sought someone. If it was she, they would not get her.
Not today.
Please not today.
Gus strolled along, not in any hurry to give the two reason to follow her. She speculated that Inès had been treated to their scrutiny, too. Did these men have associates who had followed her friend?
Gus would not know. Not until next month on the twenty-fifth. Not unless Luc Bechard came, or if he concluded it safe to send his sister once more.
Gus continued her walk south through narrow streets, where she ducked into alcoves and darted out into an alley. She kept a pace that was brisk and purposeful but, she hoped, not indicative of flight. Through more prosperous thoroughfares, she walked and bought produce or haggled withvendeurs.
Nearing the hills of Montmartre, she picked up her pace. Her nose twitched. The refuse she had smelled before was fragrant compared to the rank odor that drifted toward her now. She had to lose the two men, and had hope they’d hate her choice of a path. She scrambled to get away, even as her feet slid on the grime and guts and urine. Her eyes began to water, and she choked on the foul smells. She hurried onward and ducked quickly among the animal pens of the abattoir of Montmartre. The poor creatures rattled their cages. Cows and pigs andchickens raised a wild hue and cry, smelling the blood of their brothers being slaughtered.
Gus picked up her pace through the pens and headed for the tallow vats. Weaving among the large tanks, she lifted her scarf to cover her nose and mouth to kill the odor. When she emerged from the stink and dallied in front of a blacksmith’s stall, she stopped, gasping for good air and coughing.
Casually, she glanced over her shoulder.
They were gone.
And so were her hopes that she could operate alone.
She had to find a new technique to continue her mission and collect her information.
She sighed. She knew what that must be.
She was a fool to go on as she had. From inaction, she gained nothing. She would change.
