Page 40 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
“Monsieur Gaspard, did you ever hear of some group called the Bonnet-Rouge or…or…”
He nodded, a solemn look in his eyes. “Bonnet-Rouge Section, it was.Oui, mademoiselle. Many knew of it. All in that tribunal lived in this part of Saint Germain. They are gone now, thanks to God. They were ruthless—notorious, in fact. They worked with the local police, those in the Croix-Rouge—the crossroads in this faubourg. Together, they sent many to their deaths with only a few minutes of trial.”
Tate took her hand. “Why do you ask?”
“Diane had gone earlier that day to watch them hold a trial. Char—Charlotte was our maid.” She made that up to cover her blunder of the name. “She was afraid Diane went to watch them too often.”
“Who is this Diane, mademoiselle?” Gaspard asked.
“My sister. She was abducted that night from our carriage. We…we never saw her again.”
But more about that night disturbed Viv. She could not put her finger on the point, either. Meanwhile, Gaspard ushered them around to the master bedrooms and her father’s little study. Then the tour was done and the three of them took the staircase down.
In the foyer, Viv had to ask if Gaspard had any news about the former servants.
“A few. My mother’s cousin was your majordom. He is gone now these past five years. Aside from him, I know only two. Your mother’s personal maid lives with her son north of Paris in Compiègne.”
“And the other?” Viv had to hope he might know about the scullery maid, whom she and Charmaine often talked about as being the one who informed on the family’s departure and got the Section’ssans-culottehoodlums to harass them as they left the house that night.
“Ah. Gatel. Once one of your family’s maids.Oui.Jocelyn Gatel. She worked for your mother and afterward for the Jarre family here for many years. Promoted, she was, to first kitchen maid. She is pensioned now. Crippled.”
Thrilled to know she still lived, Viv could not find any compassion in her soul to pity her. “Do you know where she lives? I would love to visit her.”
“Ah. A fine idea. She would welcome you, I am certain. She likes a smile. An old friend.”
“You have her address?”
“I think the house agent knows it. I will try to get it for you.”
“Wonderful. I can return tomorrow to get it. Will that be convenient?”
“The house agent is not the generous sort. He may take persuasion.”
“Does coin help persuade him?” Tate asked.
“Sadly,oui.”
“Allow me, then,” Tate said, and reached in his pocket for a few shiny new francs.
“Merci.He will appreciate it.” Gaspard gave a rueful smile. “When I get the address, I can bring it to you, mademoiselle.”
Tate and she left with many thanks. He accompanied Viv home, strolling slowly as they both absorbed how fine a reminiscence it had been to visit the house.
“No one follows us,” she said, having examined the pedestrians all around them.
“Even if our man does, you are protected. You are not to worry about being attacked.”
“I’m not,” she confessed. “Perhaps it is because you are with me.”
“Perhaps that is a sign you need me with you all the time,” he said with a smoldering smile. As they approached her front door in rue du Bac, Tate paused and took her hands in his. “Look atme, please. What is it about the scullery maid that compels you to visit her?”
“She was friendly, too friendly with a man whom Diane said was a runner for the local Bonnet-Rouge tribunal. Yet I overhead another maid say her lover was police. I must learn who he was—and if he informed the local police that we were leaving that night.”
His gaze turned hard as stone. “What merits it now if you see her?”
“I must hear her explanation, mustn’t I?” She gave him a lift of her chin in defiance.
“No.”
