Page 28 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
“Not that, no.” Ram faced him. His cerulean-blue eyes flared wide, the wry humor about politics dying as something more disturbing replaced it. “Something has come to my attention lately. I have time on my hands…and I reminisce more than I should. I really should have put the pieces of this issue together for you long before this, but I have been, shall we say…distracted?”
“Very well.” Tate took a chair, comfortable to be in such old, familiar company. Whatever it was, he trusted Ram. “It cannot be that bad.”
“I have no idea. You must promise to tell me.”
“Anything.” Tate lifted a hand. “Let’s hear it.”
“It occurs to me that I know a few things that you should. The whole matter may be of no import to you. But we work in puzzles and missed chances. It might be useful.”
“Go on.” Tate reached for the coffee service Corsini must have provided earlier for the morning meeting.
“I am in my own house lately in rue d’Orleans. This is the one I let when Kane and I first arrived here last April. Soon after that, I left Paris to search for Madame St. Antoine.”
Tate knew how the lovely redhead had disappeared from Paris for many months. She had left the city early last spring.When she returned in July, she came with Ramsey but soon parted from him. Ram, who had never married and never shown any permanent interest in a woman, had cared for Madame St. Antoine with an undying passion. Kane had told Tate the story, not to spread tales but to inform him of Ram’s occasional dismal moods. The full story of Ram’s affection for the lady was not one Tate wished to press either friend to reveal. Ram, usually so forthcoming on any matter, had never shared much about histendrefor Madame St. Antoine—and Tate knew him well enough not to intrude, nor to embarrass him by asking.
Ram turned toward him. “I accompanied Madame St. Antoine for a few weeks last spring in her journeys in the countryside. Last summer, we returned to Paris, as she and I both had reason to report here.”
That was new information to Tate. Was Ram implying that Madame St. Antoine was an agent? For Kane? Or for someone else? Surely she would work for the Crown or some entity opposed to the Consulate, else Ram would not have, as he obviously had, fallen in love with the woman.
“For a while, we lived in a house in Saint Germain. Near the abbey. On the rue du Four.”
Tate regarded Ram with new interest.
“It was once the home of the Vicomte de Neufchateau, one he purchased for one of his mistresses. Often, he lived there with his whole family instead of in his mansion on the right bank.”
The hair on Tate’s neck rose. The house on rue du Four was the very one he himself had lived in with the Massé family before he accompanied the women in their flight from the city—before the vicomte fled Paris, was caught, and returned to it. The mistress for whom the old vicomte bought the house was Vivi’s mother, Madeleine. “I know it well.”
Ram flourished a dismissive hand, appearing as if he thought Tate’s stillness implied the house meant little to him. “In anycase, after Neufchateau was chased down and sent back to Paris and the guillotine, the banking family Jarre bought the house from the government.”
At the mention of the family who were related to that roué Cyprien Montagne, Tate sat forward. He did not like the alarm that rang in his ears. “The committee confiscated the properties of those they condemned to death.”
“They did.”
“The house could be used as government property or sold to private citizens who had enough money. The Jarre family wanted the prestige of owning such a house. The vicomte even complained that Monsieur Jarre told him that,” Tate went on, remembering how the vicomte disliked the resentful, gray-haired banker. He frowned, angry that he had not thought of the Jarre connection to Montagne. But Viv had been to Montagne’s house often. He’d seen her, been there too. Three times now, she had flirted with the danger that Montagne might hurt her. Drug her. Rape her.
But going nonetheless…so that what? That she might cultivate Cyprien? Or come across the old man Alfonse, who’d testified against the vicomte? Tate was fairly certain he’d read the little bugger was dead.
He rose slowly.
Ram went on, apology in his manner. “I only lately recalled that you told me years ago some of this story of how you’d been here in Paris and had to run from the Paris gendarme. But you seemed too devastated to talk about it in detail—and I never asked specifics.”
“It’s true I was disturbed about it and did not wish to speak of it. Only lately did I tell Kane more about what happened here in ninety-two.” Tate needed more information. “What else do you know about the house? Those who own it?”
“The caretaker for the family acts as the majordom. A good man. Fair and kind. I liked him. Might you wish to talk to him?”
“I might,” Tate said, speculating what niggled at the edge of his memory. Why would he meet the majordom? To learn of his connections to the Jarre family? Find old Alfonse’s young successor before Viv did? If she even wanted him at all!
Ram tipped his head in consideration of Tate’s thoughtfulness. “If you wish an introduction, I could do it.”
Tate nodded. “Yes. Yes, I might. What is his name?”
“Gaspard.”
“I do not know it.”
“He never mentioned being related to the Jarres. Only employed by them,” Ram said.
Tate nodded. “Not unusual. These townhouses on the left bank were not as elaborate as the mansions on the right bank. But still they are fine edifices, some untouched by mobs and standing with all their fine furniture intact.” Many of them, whether owned by the government or vacant, needed the careful touches of those who knew when a roof needed repair or a cellar cleared of rats. “To withstand the tests of time, the houses need experts to look after them properly, and so many of the old retainers were carted off to Madame Machine or were frightened off.”
