Lord Tony’s Wife, Baroness Orczy [bill gates best books TXT] 📗

the colour of yellow parchment, her skin was stretched tightly over her high cheekbones⁠—her lips were colourless and her eyes large, wide-open, were pale in hue and circled with red. Just now a deep frown of puzzlement between her brows added a sinister expression to her cadaverous face:

“The Rat Mort?” she queried in that tired voice of hers, “Cayenne? What is all that about?”

“A splendid scheme of Carrier’s, my Louise,” replied Martin-Roget airily. “We convey the Kernogan woman to the Rat Mort. Tonight a descent will be made on that tavern of ill-fame by a company of Marats and every man, woman and child within it will be arrested and sent to Paris as undesirable inhabitants of this most moral city: in Paris they will be tried as malefactors or evildoers⁠—cutthroats, thieves, what? and deported as convicts to Cayenne, or else sent to the guillotine. The Kernogans among that herd! What sayest thou to that, little sister? Thy father, thy lover, hung as thieves! M. le Duc and Mademoiselle branded as convicts! ’Tis pleasant to think on, eh?”

Louise made no reply. She stood looking at her brother, her pale, red-rimmed eyes seemed to drink in every word that he uttered, while her bony hand wandered mechanically across and across her forehead as if in a pathetic endeavour to clear the brain from everything save of the satisfying thoughts which this prospect of revenge had engendered.

Chauvelin’s gentle voice broke in on her meditations.

“In the meanwhile,” he said placidly, “remember my warning, citizen Martin-Roget. There are passing clever and mighty agencies at work, even at this hour, to wrest your prey from you. How will you convey the wench to the Rat Mort? Carrier has warned you of spies⁠—but I have warned you against a crowd of English adventurers far more dangerous than an army of spies. Three pairs of eyes⁠—probably more, and one pair the keenest in Europe⁠—will be on the watch to seize upon the woman and to carry her off under your very nose.”

Martin-Roget uttered a savage oath.

“That brute Carrier has left me in the lurch,” he said roughly. “I don’t believe in your nightmares and your English adventurers, still it would have been better if I could have had the woman conveyed to the tavern under armed escort.”

“Armed escort has been denied you, and anyway it would not be much use. You and I, citizen Martin-Roget, must act independently of Carrier. Your friends down there,” he added, indicating the street with a jerk of the head, “must redouble their watchfulness. The village lads of Vertou are of a truth no match intellectually with our English adventurers, but they have vigorous fists in case there is an attack on the wench while she walks across to the Rat Mort.”

“It would be simpler,” here interposed Louise roughly, “if we were to knock the wench on the head and then let the lads carry her across.”

“It would not be simpler,” retorted Chauvelin drily, “for Carrier might at any moment turn against us. Commandant Fleury with half a company of Marats will be posted round the Rat Mort, remember. They may interfere with the lads and arrest them and snatch the wench from us, when all our plans may fall to the ground⁠ ⁠… one never knows what double game Carrier may be playing. No! no! the girl must not be dragged or carried to the Rat Mort. She must walk into the trap of her own free will.”

“But name of a dog! how is it to be done?” ejaculated Martin-Roget, and he brought his clenched fist crashing down upon the table. “The woman will not follow me⁠—or Louise either⁠—anywhere willingly.”

“She must follow a stranger then⁠—or one whom she thinks a stranger⁠—someone who will have gained her confidence.⁠ ⁠…”

“Impossible.”

“Oh! nothing is impossible, citizen,” rejoined Chauvelin blandly.

“Do you know a way then?” queried the other with a sneer.

“I think I do. If you will trust me that is⁠—”

“I don’t know that I do. Your mind is so intent on those English adventurers, you are like as not to let the aristos slip through your fingers.”

“Well, citizen,” retorted Chauvelin imperturbably, “will you take the risk of conveying the fair Yvonne to the Rat Mort by twelve o’clock tonight? I have very many things to see to, I confess that I should be glad if you will ease me from that responsibility.”

“I have already told you that I see no way,” retorted Martin-Roget with a snarl.

“Then why not let me act?”

“What are you going to do?”

“For the moment I am going for a walk on the quay and once more will commune with the Northwest wind.”

“Tshaw!” ejaculated Martin-Roget savagely.

“Nay, citizen,” resumed Chauvelin blandly, “the winds of heaven are excellent counsellors. I told you so just now and you agreed with me. They blow away the cobwebs of the mind and clear the brain for serious thinking. You want the Kernogan girl to be arrested inside the Rat Mort and you see no way of conveying her thither save by the use of violence, which for obvious reasons is to be deprecated: Carrier, for equally obvious reasons, will not have her taken to the place by force. On the other hand you admit that the wench would not follow you willingly⁠—Well, citizen, we must find a way out of that impasse, for it is too unimportant an one to stand in the way of our plans: for this I must hold a consultation with the Northwest wind.”

“I won’t allow you to do anything without consulting me.”

“Am I likely to do that? To begin with I shall have need of your cooperation and that of the citizeness.”

“In that case⁠ ⁠…” muttered Martin-Roget grudgingly. “But remember,” he added with a return to his usual self-assured manner, “remember that Yvonne and her father belong to me and not to you. I brought them into Nantes for mine own purposes⁠—not for yours. I will not have my revenge jeopardised so that your schemes may be furthered.”

“Who spoke of my schemes, citizen Martin-Roget?” broke