A Daughter's Destiny (30 page)

I have had Madame LeClerc taken from your house. She will be returned to you when you have followed my orders
.

It was signed simply “Lagrille.”

Turning the note over, Evan frowned. “What orders is he referring to?”

“I don't know,” she whispered. “That is all it says.” Pushing past Hitchcock, he rushed down the hallway. Brienne followed, knowing where he must be headed. When he threw open the door to her grandmother's room and shouted out Grand-mère's name, she held her breath in hopes of hearing her grandmother answer.

“No,” Evan said as she reached the doorway. “I think it would be better if you did not go in.”

“Stop coddling me, Evan. She is my grandmother!”

“Exactly.”

She pushed past him as he had done to Hitchcock. He seized her arms, spinning her away from the door, but not before she saw the disaster that had been her grandmother's sitting room. It looked like the salon after the sailors had attacked her.

“
Mon Dieu
,” she groaned.

Evan released her with a more vicious curse. “I did not want you to see this, but now that you have …”

Brienne put her hand on the door frame, not sure she could trust her knees as she stared at the upset chairs and broken table. Pictures were pulled from the walls, their broken frames lying atop where they were scattered across the floor. A newspaper had been pulled apart and thrown everywhere.

“How was it that no one heard this?” Brienne gasped. “We could not hear from the front of the house, but someone must have heard this.”

“That is my question as well. Were all your servants senseless last night?”

At Evan's question, she looked over her shoulder to see Armistead behind them. Louisa stood beside him, her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide. Armistead's jaw worked as his gaze swept over the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” Armistead frowned. “I welcomed you and your companions into my house, Somerset, and
this
is how you repay me?”

“
This
is not my handiwork,” Evan said. “Brienne's grandmother has been kidnapped.” He thrust the note into his friend's hand. “See for yourself.”

“Kidnapped?” Louisa collapsed in a swoon.

Rolling his eyes, Evan knelt beside her as he called, “Hitchcock, bring the
sal volatile
to wake her.”

“Forgive me,” Armistead said as he handed the note to Brienne. “I should not have assumed you were involved in this.”

Her forehead furrowed when she saw a glint in his eyes which avoided hers. Did he find something about this amusing? She started to ask that, then halted herself. He might be simply grateful that his mistress had not been the one stolen from the house.

“Why,” Armistead went on when she remained silent, “would anyone want to abduct Madame LeClerc? She seemed like such a harmless old woman.”

“Seems!” cried Brienne, unable to restrain herself at his comment. “She is not dead.” She went into the room and lifted a small table upright.

Sobs burst from her. This reminded her too much of the day when she had been assaulted and the salon almost destroyed, the day Evan had burst into her life at the very moment everything she had always believed was shattering like the figurines that had been smashed on the hearth. Sitting on the settee, she covered her face with her hands.

“I am so sorry, honey,” Evan said as he sat beside her. Drawing her into his arms, he turned her against his chest. She clutched his shirt as she had the night Maman had died and wondered if all the pain of the past few weeks had gathered together to be inflicted upon her anew.

A commotion in the hallway brought Brienne's head up. She saw Louisa being carried away from the door. With a sigh, she leaned back against the settee and stared up at the ceiling which was the only unchanged part of this room.

“She will be fine,” Armistead said as he came into the room. “She has a habit of doing that whenever things become too disagreeable.”

Although she wanted to fire back that this was far worse than disagreeable, Brienne held her tongue. She could not let him put her nose out of joint with every word he spoke. He was upset as well.

“They were quite thorough, I see.” Armistead picked up a shard of a broken shepherd. “I was rather fond of this piece.”

“We must find Grand-mère,” Brienne said, turning to Evan.

He was staring across the room, and she guessed he was not looking at the damage. His gaze was turned inward. What was he planning? She wanted to ask, but she could not when Armistead was prowling the room, frowning more fiercely as he viewed the destruction from every angle.

“But where to begin?” Their host grimaced when glass crunched beneath his feet.

Evan nodded, his eyes focusing as he turned toward her. “Until we know what this Lagrille wants, we can do nothing. Do you have any idea why someone with that name would want your grandmother?”

“What do you mean?” She wanted to shake him. This was not the time for one of his jests.

“Just what I asked you, Brienne. Armistead is right. Your grandmother is a harmless old woman. I cannot imagine a single reason why someone would want to kidnap her.” His gaze drilled her. “Can you?”

Her hands clenched in her lap as she realized that the hoax was not meant for her, but for Armistead. Evan wanted to assure that their host could not guess even a hint of the truth.

Lowering her gaze to her hands, she said, her voice trembling, “I am at a loss, too.”

He put his hands over hers, but his words were for Armistead. “As soon as Brienne is dressed, I think we should meet to discuss this … somewhere else.” He glanced around the room. “This is too distressing for all of us.”

“'Tis the hour for breakfast.” Armistead went to the door. “I shall have it readied to be served when Brienne joins us.”

“In the meantime, we shall talk.”

Brienne wanted to plead with Evan to come with her. She had so many questions to ask him, so much she needed to tell him, but he drew her to her feet. “Evan,” she whispered, “in Grand-mère's bedchamber—”

“Later, honey,” he murmured. Raising his voice, he said, “Do not be long, Brienne. I doubt if this Lagrille will wait long to make his wishes known to us. We need to be prepared.”

Going to the door, she looked back at the two men. Evan stood in the middle of the room, his gaze again distant. Beyond him, Armistead was gathering up the broken fragments of another figurine. His scowl was as fearsome as a thunderstorm, and she recalled how he had spoken of his affection for his possessions.

A shudder ran along her, for she knew it was what she still possessed that had led to this horror.

Brienne was amazed to see Louisa looking serene and sitting at the large table in the breakfast-parlor. No one greeted Brienne as she entered. From Evan's stiff expression, she guessed this uncomfortable silence had been going on for a while.

He gave her a bolstering smile as he came over to the door. “How are you doing, Brienne?”

“As well as can be expected.” She glanced at the table. “We are wasting time just sitting here.”

“I expect we will hear from Lagrille before midday.”

“You do?”

His smile became feral. “Why should he delay?”

To that, Brienne had no answer. Going with Evan to the table, she thanked him as he seated her. Silence descended again around the table as heaping plates were set in front of them. She picked up her fork and looked at hers. Her stomach threatened to embarrass her on her first bite.

“To answer your question, Somerset,” Armistead said in a vexed voice, “I have had Hitchcock speak to the staff as well as the neighbors. Nobody saw anyone strange come into the house last night.”

“Or this morning?” Evan asked.

“I told you. No.”

Brienne put down her fork. It was senseless to try to eat when she could not swallow past the fear clamping around her throat.

“Someone must have seen something!” Evan argued. “Yes, I was able to slip into the house last night without being noted, but I was not taking a woman with me who did not want to go.”

Louisa toyed with her muffin. “If they had knocked her senseless—”

“Don't even say such a thing!” Brienne cried.

Evan put his hand over hers. “Honey, we have to consider every possibility, no matter how heinous.”

Pushing away from the table, she stood. She went to the window overlooking the garden at the back of the house. No doubt, the blackguards who had taken her grandmother had come this way. That would explain why none of the neighbors had seen anyone suspicious, but how could no one have seen them when they came through the kitchens?

“Brienne,” Evan said as he put his hands on her shoulders, “mayhap you should retire so you can compose yourself.”

“I am quite—” She bit back the rest of her retort when she saw the tension tightening his face. Letting her shoulders droop, she said, “Mayhap you are right, Evan. Will you assist me to my room?”

“Of course.” His expression remained grim as he turned toward the table. “If you will excuse us, Porter.”

“I will have the servants continue to question anyone who might have been on the square last night,” Armistead said. Coming around the table, he squeezed Brienne's hand. “You know I will do all I can to make this come to rights.”

“Thank you.” She added nothing else as she went out of the breakfast-parlor with Evan.

He held out his hand, and she slipped hers into it, lacing her fingers through his. As they went along the passage, he gave her a reassuring smile. She appreciated his effort, for his tension tightened his grip around her fingers, and she knew he was as anxious about Grand-mère as she was.

When they entered the small parlor, he closed the door. He pulled her to the far side of the room and into his arms. She started to speak, but he put his fingers to her lips.

“Whisper,” he said so quietly she could hardly hear him. “I do not know who in this house has betrayed us, but someone has.”

“Hitchcock?”

He chuckled. “He is an obvious choice. It has to be someone who has a position of authority here.”

“Evan, we must do something. Poor Grand-mère! I do not want to think about how frightened she must be.”

“What do you suggest we do when we have no idea where your grandmother may be?”

“Your father is wealthy. He would be able to hire Bow Street Runners to seek Grand-mère.”

“No.”

“But, Evan, 'tis Grand-mère.” Tears fell along her face, and she did not wipe them away. It was useless, for more would follow.

“No.”

“I cannot believe you would let your hate for him keep you from getting the best possible help for my grandmother.” She stepped out of his arms.

He grasped her hands and kept her from walking away. “Brienne, when you do business with the devil, the price is your soul.”

“The price may be my grandmother's life.”

His lips curled in a caricature of a smile. “Do not worry about that, honey. I have a few connections of my own that should help me find your grandmother far more quickly than the Bow Street Runners could.”

“More friends?”

“Why are you sneering when my friends have proven to be so helpful since we met?” He released her fingers and sifted his through her hair. “Honey, I would not do anything to risk your grandmother. You know that, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“But?”

“I did not say but.”

“No, but I heard it in your voice.” Evan stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. “You think I would put my anger with my father ahead of finding your grandmother.”

She could not deny the truth. “Yes.”

“You are wrong. Too bad Dominic is not here. He could assure you that I keep my promises, no matter how high the cost might be.” He drew her down to a settee. “None of this makes sense. Why did they take your grandmother instead of you?”

“I was with you last night.”

His smile was fleeting. “Yes, you were.” He sighed. “If you recall, that did not halt Lagrille's henchmen from slaying Angiola's lover.”

Brienne surged to her feet, unable to sit still when he spoke of such things. “Evan, how will we get Grand-mère back safely?”

“By giving them whatever they want.” He pounded his fist into the arm of the sofa. “But what could it be?”

“The vase,” she whispered.

“Then, they are one case of arson too late to get it.”

“No, they are not.”

Evan slowly stood as he stared at Brienne's colorless face. He wanted to believe that he had misunderstood her. When she backed away as he walked toward her, he caught her by the elbows and brought her close to him. “What did you say?” He had to squeeze each word out past his rigid lips.

“The vase was not destroyed in the fire.”

“You told me—”

She yanked herself away. “Why should I have trusted you when I did not know anything about you except that you brought all this trouble into our lives?”

“That was weeks ago. During all that time, it never crossed your mind to confide in me?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“But you did not trust me with the truth.” He snarled a curse, then realized it was his father's favorite one. He chose another oath, but it offered no more satisfaction. “Brienne, do you have the vase now?”

“I know where it is.”

“Then, let's get it. I will order a carriage and—”

Putting her hand on his, she said, “There is no need for a carriage. Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Grand-mère's chamber.”

“The vase is here in the house?” Astonishment widened his eyes.

She nodded.

“Damn! This makes it harder.”

“Harder? All we need to do is go and retrieve it.”