Page 70 of The Spy and the Nightingale
Dubois was watching Cuvelier. “I agree with you most certainly, Beaumont, about liabilities. The remainder of our discussion is best saved for another time. Perhaps you will join Compton and myself at Cercle des Étrangers one evening this week, and we will resume this conversation afterwards. Monday, perhaps. You are familiar with this place?”
“By reputation. I’ve not yet had the pleasure of attending.” It was an invitation-onlymaison de jeuknown for its high-stakes gaming. Baudelaire could have pulled strings to gain him entry, but as yet there hadn’t been a need.
“I will make arrangements, then, for this. You will enjoy it, I believe.”
Compton raised his glass. “Perhaps you will even unbend from your three-games-only rule.”
He tossed back the rest of his drink. “Perhaps. I make no promises, monsieurs.”
Except one:I will bring you down.
Chapter 20
“The driver is one of Baudelaire’s men.” Nate doubted Isobel had noticed the driver was the same as had conveyed them to Le Repaire earlier. He kept his voice low. “Our conversation may nonetheless not be entirely private.” He trusted Baudelaire, but when circles widened to men he’d not vetted himself, he still exercised caution.
“I understand.” Isobel rested the back of her head against the seat, eyes closed.
Somehow they’d made it through the evening unscathed. Or they’d been allowed to leave, at any rate.
He had little choice but to remain involved, but her involvement must needs be finished. The risks for her were now far too great to allow her a continued part. For Miss Muir’s sake as well.
“If you’d rather not be alone in my rooms, I will see you conveyed safely to L’Orchidée first, but I’ve work yet to do tonight.”
“Your rooms will do.” Her voice was little more than breath, as if she hadn’t strength to put sound into it. The dark cab concealed her face.
“I cannot know how long I’ll be gone. Most of the night, likely. You’d be alone for much of it.”
“Your rooms,” she repeated. “Congenial as Amélie is, I’ve no wish to see her just now.” Her delivery was sharp, words brittle at the edges. She sighed, her tone softening. “That is, I am not fit for company right now. Beyond whatever discussion we have once we reach your rooms.”
“Aye.” Better for appearances anyway, for one more night, if Dubois or others had eyes on the rooms of Nathaniel Beaumont. After tomorrow he wanted her relocated to L’Orchidée to ensure her safety. Amélie and her men could be entrusted as such.
They did not speak for the remainder of the ride. When they disembarked, he had a few quiet words with the driver—some verbal messages to deliver. He directed Jean-François, half asleep in the courtyard, to L’Orchidée with another.
“You will be safe here without me for a few hours tonight,” he said to Isobel once they were in his rooms. Monroe, one of his men, would remain nearby.
She shivered. “I have faith in you,” she said softly. She sat down jerkily, as if her limbs had lost the ability to move smoothly. “He knows, Dubois does. Maybe that I am Lucy’s sister, maybe that I’m some other relative. That my presence was not coincidence tonight.” Her hands were shaking, although she’d laid them neatly on her lap. It had cost her to keep that hidden in Le Repaire.
He wished— Well, he wished he had leisure to stay, to hold her till she slept and ensure she was not alone if nightmares came. But there was too much to do, quickly, before the entire house of cards came tumbling down. It was here, that critical moment when an operation begins destabilizing from the base, threatening to take everyone and everything down with it at any moment. Both intellect and instinct told him that.
He couldn’t do what he wanted, only what he must.
She looked up at him. “She has information to give you. About Compton. The others too. Information of value. She...” She swallowed visibly. “...Lucy does. She cannot— She is watched. Everywhere, she says. She will be at the Théâtre de la Gaîté in two nights. The performance has several acts. Cuvelier drinks, and she may be able to get away during one of the intermissions. If you can arrange it, she will look for someone with our mother’s ring.” She worked it off her finger, clasping it briefly against her lips before handing it to him. “I’ve told her that whoever presents it, she can— She can—” She was rapidly losing the battle for composure, breath ripped from her in jagged slices.
The work be damned for just a moment. He knelt, taking her in his arms. She pressed her cheek against his chest.
She didn’t weep, gasping as she fought for air. Her fingers dug painfully into his ribs, but he held her tight. That discomfort was nothing against the enormity of what she was grappling with. Eventually her breath eased, still ragged but not so raw.
“She will come home with me,” she said quietly into his neck once she could speak again. “I still do not know if she entered this situation willingly, but she will come home if she can be removed. She will tell you everything she knows. Can it be done?” She pulled back enough to search his face. “Can you bring her to me, so that I may take her home?”
“Two days...” Did they have that long? Even had they, could something feasible be arranged in only two days? But time was running short regardless. Two days might prove a luxury. “I will assuredly discuss it with others. I cannot promise?—”
“I know. You cannot promise me anything. I must be content that you will try.”
He wanted to be able to promise her, God knew, but he couldn’t.
“I must not expect too much,” she continued. “I mustnot?—”
“Even if we cannot arrange something for Tuesday night, it does not mean we will give up.” That much he could promise her.
