Deceit (13 page)

I wish I could check the earring though
, she thought. She still had it somewhere in the tangle of stuff in her jewellery box. Because once she could see it wasn’t the same design at all, she’d feel tons better.

Once she was on the tube, her ring loosened and Claire felt calmer. She was on her way. She was
doing
something. She idly watched the people
around her, thinking that they could have no idea what she was about to do. One man was reading a newspaper though and there at the very bottom of the front page was a picture of Micky – taken when she had been smiling and happy. But the headline at the top of the page read:

Well Jacalyn will know all about the epidemic now
, Claire thought and, even though they’d had such a massive row, she felt suddenly surprised that Jacalyn hadn’t tried to contact her. Maybe she’d gone back to Paris and washed her hands of the whole thing? But she wouldn’t do that. Would she?

Claire surfaced from the underground at Tower Hill into bright sunshine. For a second she felt disorientated. There were crowds of people and she had to thread her way through to find a quiet spot to make the call to Robert and to get further instructions.

“I’m at Tower Hill. What should I do?”

She heard Robert’s voice on the other end of the phone. He could barely subdue his excitement. Soon he would have what he’d been searching so long for. “Walk through to St Katharine Docks. I will be waiting for you. Ring me there.”

So
, Claire thought,
did Robert’s warehouse exist after all, hidden somewhere in the forest of modern buildings? Was that why she’d smelled the cinnamon and flowers at Marble Quay… because he’d been hiding out there?

But no, they weren’t meeting at a warehouse… she’d rung Robert and he’d given her a name,
The Annalise
, which turned out to be a big Dutch barge. The minute Claire found it she’d slipped out her phone and texted Lindsay, giving her the name and location.

Once the text was safely sent she turned to
The Annalise
. How would she get aboard? The gangplank had been pulled in and the barge was deliberately moored too far out. There was no way Claire could jump across. But Robert was waiting, watching her from the wheelhouse.

He looked different. His dark hair had been cut brutally short, his eyes were shaded behind sunglasses. He was no longer clean-shaven.
An attempt at disguise she supposed, but it could never ever fool her.

He came and put out the gangplank and held out his hand to help her. She ignored him and walked across unaided, averting her eyes from the dark water moving sleek as oil below. She had to brush close by him, and his smell was more sweet and sickly and disturbing than ever. “Where’s Micky?” Claire said sharply.

He gestured towards the steps down into the cabin. She took a deep breath. This was it. No going back. He had her now and there was no knowing if she would ever be free again or even leave the barge alive.

The cabin was much bigger than she’d imagined. Spacious. Furnished with antiques. Even with its small porthole windows, it reminded her of Darke House… the same sort of wall panelling, oil paintings and Persian rugs… even a cabinet of curios. But no mummy. No Nefertaru. And no sign of Micky.

“Where is she? She’d better be okay, or you’ll
never
get what you want.”

“Of course she is. Matthew was well looked after was he not? I am not a monster, besides…”

Claire looked at him, arms folded, stony faced. “Besides?” she prompted, not expecting for a second the reply that she got.

“She is full of character. Spirit. I admire her for it.” He took off his glasses.

Another black eye, Claire thought, how bizarre. “Did
Micky
do that?”

Robert gave a small, rueful grimace. “When she realised I was
really
after you, she told me there was no way I’d get you. Then she hit me. Landed a fist straight in my eye. Oh, if only I’d had a sister like Micky, willing to sacrifice herself for me. As it was…”

Claire wasn’t going to fall for that old sob story about a sad upbringing. She gave him a cold, hard stare and his face darkened and his fists were clenched now, so hard they bleached white.

“Micky. I want to see her. And I want to see her
now
.” Claire’s eyes were fixed on him, defiant… determined.

“Come.” He ushered her through a locked door in the panelling and there she was. Micky. Sitting on a big double bed, playing with a Game Boy. Looking pale and tired and a little bit grubby around the edges, but so absorbed in the game
she didn’t look up as the door opened. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t know anything. Go to hell, you bitch!”

“Micky!”

Micky looked up, startled at the unexpected sound of her sister’s voice. Registered Claire’s shocked face. Dropped the Game Boy and threw herself into Claire’s arms. Squeezed her so tight it hurt, but that was okay. Claire squeezed back, taking comfort in the familiarity of her smell.

“You took your time,” Micky pushed herself away and looked up at Claire’s face, a scowl on her own. “I thought you were never coming.”

“I know,” Claire said, making a face at her, “I had to think about it. I mean you
are
a pain in the butt.” Now lowering her voice, “Like the black eye though. I bet that hurt.”

“Yes it did!” Micky sounded indignant. “His cheekbones are so hard. And I punched her too.”

Christophe went to the theatre early this morning and so he is already there and working with Luc
when I arrive. Annie calls out to me as I hurry towards the stage… but there is no time to stop. I must find Christophe and we must leave Paris at once.

Christophe is up in the ‘flys’ and at first I cannot get his attention. I shout and shout, but he does not hear me. His right leg is threaded about a thick rope and he is busy pushing another finer rope through a pulley. He shouts down to Luc, “
J’ai fini!
” and as he turns his head he sees me. I beckon frantically to him and he releases his grip a little on the rope and slides smoothly down to the stage.

The minute his feet touch the ground I push the bill post into his hand. “He is in Paris… Robert Benoit… that is the name he uses here. It will not be long until someone claims the reward.”

I look around. The theatre is busy with people. Any one of them might see a bill post, for I am sure there will be many printed and such a great deal of money is being offered. These are poor people… how could I blame them if they claimed the reward? We are new here and they owe us nothing. We are strangers to all but Annie and Luc.

Christophe looks worried, but he does not act in the way I expect. Instead he places his hands on my shoulders and says, “
Écoutes-moi
. Listen, we do not know for sure that Nicholas is Robert. We must find out before we do anything. You must go back to our room with Jeanne and stay there. I will go to the Rue de Montmorency and see what I can find out.”

I start to cry and, sensing my distress, Jeanne starts crying also.

Christophe says something quickly in French to Annie. Then he is gone.

Annie puts her arm about my shoulders. “I will see that you get back home safely.”

Our little attic room, which only a few hours ago seemed like a safe haven, now feels like a prison. Annie stays just a little while; she must get back to the theatre for the afternoon’s performance.

I cannot settle. Jeanne feeds badly and is fractious. Every footstep on the stair makes me rush to the door in the hope it is Christophe. But it is dark before he returns. He looks tired and grim.

“Well?” I place my palms on his chest and look
up into his eyes. His hand feels heavy as he strokes my hair.

“I saw the carriage return to the house, but it passed into the courtyard and it was too dark and I could not see who was in it. I asked at the inn nearby, ‘Is there anyone who can tell me about this Robert Benoit?’ ‘Fine-looking. A gentleman,’ they said. ‘Dark hair. Soberly dressed. Speaks the language as well as any true-born Parisian… though his servants only speak to him in his native English. A young woman and a man with a face like a weasel, who walks stiffly as if his back pains him.’”

“God protect us. It is him. I am sure of it.”

“I will go again tomorrow, early, before the theatre. I will hide myself somewhere with a better view of the entrance. And then if it is Nicholas, we will pack our things and be gone.”

None of us sleep well that night. Jeanne snuffles and whimpers and I wake at every church bell. At first light Christophe is already out of bed and dressed. He says nothing but leans down and kisses us both. Then he is away.

The hours pass slowly, but just before the bells ring for midday, I hear steps on the stair and there
is someone at our door. They knock softly and a voice whispers urgently, “Margrat. Margrat, it is me, Martha. Open the door.”

I think I will faint when I see her. My legs go from under me. But she catches me and helps me onto the bed where Jeanne is blessedly fast asleep.

“How did you…?”

She looks from me to the baby and then she leans across and touches Jeanne’s little cheek. Jeanne turns her mouth towards Martha’s hand and makes little suckling noises. Martha smiles, “A little fair-haired girl then…”

I do not need to answer. She knows that only a girl child can be brought to term for she was my only confidante at Darke House. And I know that I can trust her, whatever Christophe might think. But how has she found me? How did she know to look for us here, outside the city walls? And if she knows where we are, then Nicholas must know too… surely?

“Margrat, don’t fret, I will answer all your questions. But first we must find Christophe. Where is he?” she says. I tell her where he has gone and that I do not know what time he will return.

She stands up and pulls her shawl about her.
How she has changed. There are lines around her mouth where there were none before and there is a hardness but also a sadness in her eyes. “A young woman, sallow-skinned and shifty looking, came to the house this morning. She had a bill post in her hand with your likeness drawn upon it.”

I gasp… another of those damnable bill posts. How many more must there be about the city?

“But the Doctor was out and had taken that maggot pie Silas Becke with him. Pah! I heard how he tried to kill Christophe and how you stabbed him, Margrat. What a pity you didn’t succeed in putting an end to his mangy life.”

On hearing these words, I froze for a moment. So Silas Becke was not dead then, but in Paris, and no doubt hungry for revenge. How much worse could our situation become?

“The minute the woman heard the Doctor wasn’t in,” Martha continues, “she was going to leave, but I grabbed her arm… pointed at the bill post and demanded to know where you lived. Of course I spoke in English, but she understood me well; she held out her hand for money smartly enough. I only had a few sous, but the Doctor’s house is full of beautiful things,” she hesitates and
flushes a little, “so I pointed to some small bits of silver… a cream jug and a pair of salts. I signed that I would give them to her, but only if she took me to you. It was a risk. She didn’t look like one of God’s angels. But since I left England, I always carry a knife.”

Martha shows it to me. It is small and very sharp. I would never have thought it of Martha. She was once as timid as a mouse. I know too that she would use the knife if she had to, just as I had to use mine on Silas. I feel bitter and angry when I think of our lost innocence. Everything Nicholas touches becomes tarnished.

“I was careful she walked in front of me,” Martha went on. “And I kept my knife at the ready until we arrived here. She pointed up to your attic window and ran off the instant I paid her. I’m lucky to be here talking to you and not murdered in the street, but she’ll betray us, sure as chickens lay eggs. So, come on… we must go…”

I pick Jeanne up from the bed and tie her safe across my breast in a sling made of cloth, just as Annie has taught me to do. I follow Martha out into the street, thinking,
Where has my shy little Martha gone?!

All goes well until we are nearly at the theatre. Then I see him. Even though it is crowded, I would know him anywhere, just from the way he holds himself… tall and upright. Besides, he is carrying his silver-topped cane with the snake’s head. And his black leather bag is slung across his chest. Nicholas will never be parted from those spells. Nor, it seems, from Silas Becke, who is as close at his heel as a hunting dog shadowing his master. At least the act of murder will not stain my soul. Silas lives. Now my ring burns like fire and when I reach up to touch it, pain shoots through my fingers.

I see Nicholas stop and look about him and then he stiffens, as if he has spotted his quarry. Martha is close behind me. Her hand slips into mine and laces my fingers, for now we can see his quarry clearly too: Christophe, walking quickly, head down, towards the theatre door. I cry out, but Martha tightens her grip on my hand. She knows I will run to warn him, even though it will put Jeanne and myself in great danger.

“No! Jeanne needs you. I will distract him.” Before I can stop her she rushes towards Nicholas, calling out as loud as she can, “Doctor Benedict!
Doctor Benedict!” He turns, momentarily, from his prey.

Christophe, hearing Nicholas’s name, looks up and sees him and begins to run. Nicholas and Silas are hard on his heels and Martha and I follow at a safe distance, threading in and out of the press of people, carts and carriages. I am gasping for breath now and Jeanne, woken rudely from her sleep by the noise, begins to cry.

“Shush now,” I try to comfort her, but she senses my distress… and her crying only grows louder.

Then I see it. The carriage and horses, careering out of control down the street towards us. I freeze in terror, but Martha pulls me swiftly out of its path. The crowd parts and Nicholas is in clear view now. He is so intent upon catching Christophe, who still runs ahead, that he does not hear the carriage until it is nearly upon him.