not mentioned in the pamphlet), she might be able to approach Napoleon afresh. For the second time, Lord Cranmere's voice interrupted her plans.
'Ah, I was forgetting,' he said, on a note of gentle mockery. 'Knowing the impulsiveness of your character and your regrettable passion for disappearing without trace, I have taken additional precautions – in the person of the eccentric female who seems to act towards you as a mother and a chaperon but who is, I believe, your cousin.'
Marianne's heart missed a beat and she found herself suddenly at a loss for air.
'Adelaide?' she gasped. 'What is this to do with her?'
'Why, a good deal, I think. If you knew me better, my dear, you would know that I am not the man to start a game without several trumps in my hand. Mademoiselle d'Asselnat received a message purporting to come from you and by this time should be safely in the care of friends of mine. If you wish to see her again alive...'
Marianne realized suddenly, from the anguish that tore her heart, just how fond she had grown of Adelaide. She closed her eyes so that he should not see the tears which started into them. The devil! He had dared to lay hands on that kindly, devoted old maid! Marianne knew now that he was hand in glove with Fanchon Fleur-de-Lis and her gang, and felt sickened at the thought of her cousin in their hands. She knew them, knew how cruel and unscrupulous they were and their hatred for all those connected, however remotely, with the imperial regime.
'You dared!' she muttered through clenched teeth. 'You dared to do that and you think by this means to bring me to agree? Well, I shall find her. I know the den of that evil creature who sits grinning at us.'
'You may find her,' Francis retorted coolly, 'but I warn you, if Fouche's spies start poking their dirty noses into my friend Fanchon's territory, they will find only a corpse.'
'You would not dare!'
'Why not? On the other hand, if you behave sensibly, as I hope and do as I ask nicely, then I can promise to restore her to you unharmed.'
'Do you expect me to believe the word of a —'
'A scoundrel,' Francis finished for her. 'I know. It seems to me you have no choice. First find the fifty thousand livres I need, my sweet Marianne. I promise I will not call on your generosity again for – a year, let us say. And now —'
He heaved himself up from the velvet cushions and took the hand which Marianne was still too stupefied to withdraw and carried it to his lips. At the last moment, her slim fingers slipped from Francis's gloved hand, as though instinctively.
'I hate you,' she said dully. 'Oh, how I hate you!'
He gave his twisted smile. 'That does not disturb me. With some women, hatred has more spice than love. I shall have my money!'
'You shall have it, but take care. If you harm one hair of my cousin's head, there is no hiding-place in all Europe safe enough to keep you from my vengeance. That I swear by my father's memory, I will kill you with my own hands, even if I die for it!'
She shook her gloved fist in Lord Cranmere's face. The smile left Francis's lips and he flinched before the cold fury in her glittering green eyes. The pallor of that lovely face, the anguish so clearly written there, had their effect on the Englishman, touched, perhaps, some forgotten chord in his selfish, cynical nature. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it, shrugged, like a man seeking to shift a burden from his shoulders, and stepped down from the carriage. When he stood beside it, he muttered without looking up: 'If you do as I require, nothing unpleasant will happen. And you can forget these tragedy airs – they reek of the boards, you know.'
He was gone before Marianne could recover enough to retort. What was the use? Through the tears she was no longer able to restrain, she saw him climb in to the curricle, take the reins, and back the vehicle away. The wedding procession had moved out of sight past the swing bridge by the Tuileries and the crowd was already dispersing among the side-shows, the sweetmeat stalls and the open air buffets, and the fountains which would soon begin to flow with wine. But Marianne saw none of this.
Overwhelmed by a terrible feeling of defeat and helplessness, she sat motionless in her seat, her hand clenched on the shining handle of her parasol, her cheeks wet with tears that dropped unheeded on to her lace gown. It did not occur to her to summon Arcadius or to command the carriage to drive on. Her whole mind was concentrated on her cousin and what that elderly woman might be enduring at the hands of Fanchon Fleur-de-Lis and her minions. Jolival, however, had seen Lord Cranmere leave the carriage and had instantly leaped down from the box to rejoin Marianne.
'By all the saints in heaven, what has happened?' he exclaimed, seeing her transformed into a statue of grief. 'What has that man done to you? Why did you not call me?'
She turned her tear-drenched eyes to him and made a little movement to smooth out the crumpled yellow paper which she held between her hands before she gave it to Arcadius.
'Read it,' she said with difficulty. 'All Paris will read it unless I give him the money he wants. And – to make sure – he has abducted Adelaide. He has me, Arcadius, and he will not let me go. He knows the Emperor will not endure a scandal, nor see his name linked to that of a murderess.'
'A murderess? There is no truth in this filth.'
'Yes. Without intending it, in self-defence, I did kill Ivy St Albans and the runners are searching for me in England.'
'Oh.'
Arcadius lowered himself heavily on to the squabs. Marianne saw, to her distress, that he had gone very pale and she wondered momentarily if he too were about to shrink from her in horror. But Jolival merely extracted a large and spotless handkerchief from his pocket and, putting one arm in a brotherly fashion round Marianne's shoulders, began patiently drying the tears which still flowed from her eyes. A comforting smell of tobacco filled the carriage.
'And what are the – er – gentleman's demands?' Arcadius asked matter-of-factly.
'Fifty thousand livres – within three days. He will tell me where and how to hand it over.'
Arcadius whistled softly.
'The devil! He is greedy. And that, I dare say, is only the beginning. He will not stop there.' He returned the now useless handkerchief to his pocket.
'You think he will want more? I think so too, but he engaged himself, if I give him what he asks, not to demand more money for a year – and to restore Adelaide to me unharmed.'
'Kind of him. I imagine you do not mean to trust him?'
'Not for an instant, but we have no choice. He has Adelaide and he knows that I will do anything to save her life. If I set the police on his track, he will kill her without mercy. If that were not so, we should already be on our way to call on the Duke of Otranto —'
'— who would not be able to receive you since he is attending the Emperor's wedding. Besides, there is nothing to say that he could prevent the spread of this dirt. It is almost impossible to suppress a pamphlet of this kind. They appear every day. No, I am wondering if we cannot make shift to recover Mademoiselle d'Asselnat for ourselves. I cannot think there are so many places where Fanchon Fleur-de-Lis can have hidden her, for you may be sure she is in her hands.'
'Can she be in the quarries of Chaillot?'
'Quite certainly not. The Dame Desormeaux is no fool. She knows that charming spot has no secrets from us. No, she will have her somewhere else, but we will need to take great care in finding where because I agree that this Englishman will not hesitate to kill his prisoner as he threatened. I only hope he will honour his agreement and restore her to us on payment of the ransom.'
'Suppose – suppose he does not?' Marianne said faintly.
'That is why we have to try and find out where he has hidden her. Besides, as you say, we have no choice. First, we must pay, after that —'
He paused and Marianne saw his jaw tighten under the short beard. She was suddenly conscious that beneath the pleasant, willowy exterior of this little man with his precise, almost feminine elegance, was a will every bit as strong as Francis's.
'After that?' she breathed.
