Lane smiled. Henri was, after all, tied to a chair. “Ask your questions.”
“Why did you not leave Paris when your life was attempted? Where have you been these past days, and what was so urgent to tell Wickersham?”
I watched Lane, to see if he would answer. These were all things I wanted to know, too. Lane shrugged, much as Henri had against his ropes. “I don’t mind telling you. I did not leave Paris because Ben Aldridge and I have unfinished business between us, business that has nothing to do with Wickersham. Even more so now. And as for where I’ve been, I was underground. Beneath a crypt in what I think was a wine cellar.”
“Ben must have been keeping you for Uncle Tully,” I said, suddenly putting this together, “to have you there, so Uncle Tully would work.” Which meant Ben would have never traded Lane for my uncle. “How did …”
I paused. Lane had straightened, his lazy stance in the chair gone. Jean-Baptiste slid up the wall to his feet. “You said Ben Aldridge was at Stranwyne, trying to take Mr. Tully. You mean he came himself? Into the house?”
“Yes. But they went to the wrong door. It’s been so long, he must have forgotten which was the —”
“Which wrong door?” Now Lane had gone absolutely still. “Was he in your bedroom?” I reached down and took his hand back in mine. He let me, but his eyes did not move from my face. I hoped he wouldn’t notice the scar on my neck.
“I am not hurt,” I said. “I —”
“This is most interesting,” said Henri, breaking into our conversation, “but perhaps you can continue your little quarrel at another time? I would like the answer to my last question.”
The gray eyes were back on Henri now, and there was a storm in them.
“What was your information that could not wait?” Henri insisted.
“I think I know what you went to tell Wickersham,” I said, pulling Lane’s gaze back to me. “You went to tell him that Ben Aldridge is the son of Napoleon the Third.”
Lane waited a moment before he nodded.
“Ah,” Henri said. “Then I am sorry for him. That is an unfortunate dealing of the cards.” He glanced very deliberately at my hand, pale in Lane’s tan one, the impertinent grin lurking once again at the corners of his mouth. “Would you not agree,
I only just kept from rolling my eyes as Lane’s grip strengthened, his thumb beginning another slow trace of the veins in my hand.
“Yes,” Lane said. “That is very unlucky. For him.” These words had nothing to do with Ben Aldridge’s origins. Lane smiled, the wicked one I remembered of old, and Henri smiled back. Two knowing smiles that might have erupted into a fight if one of them had not been tied to a chair.
“Just stop it!” I snapped, pulling away my hand. “I don’t care what you two think of each other, or who Ben’s father is, any more than I care about Mr. Wickersham at the moment. We have to get Uncle Tully back! Lane, where were you when you got out of the cellar?”
Henri cut off Lane’s answer. “It was the Saint-Merri, was it not?”
Lane tilted his head in agreement.
“So I thought. You must take me there with you.”
Lane smiled again. “And why should I do that?”
“Because I know where the man you call Aldridge goes underground. I know where he had you. And … I know the back way in.”
The skepticism in the room could have been cut with the knife of Jean-Baptiste. Henri tried to lean forward, straining against his bonds.
“You must listen. It is where he has taken him. There is nowhere else. And they will be watching the Saint-Merri now that you are gone,
Lane stared hard at Henri.
“You will need the back way in.”
Lane sought my face and I saw the question there. He did not want to trust Henri, but he was afraid we might have to.
“Why?” I asked Henri. “Why help us bring him back?”
There was no tease in his voice when he replied, “Because if all that you say is so, Miss Tulman, I would not give this weapon to a Bonaparte. We may disagree on many things, but I do not think we disagree on that.” He gave an upward glance to the window. “You will have to decide soon. We must leave before the light or wait for the evening.”
Lane put his elbows on the back of the chair. “I don’t know that I believe there is a back way. But if we go to see, are we clear on who is in charge?”
“Oh, I have always been certain of that,
Lane’s brows came down, but Henri again stopped his teasing, his face going serious. “I have no wish to see the old man harmed, but I swear to you, I would not put this weapon in the hands of the emperor.”
The room was quiet, only the ticking of Uncle Tully’s clocks marking the silence. “Untie him,” Lane said to Joseph.
All the impudence I was used to seeing on Henri Marchand’s face returned full force. Before Joseph or his brother could even move he had sighed with relief and slipped his arms from their bonds, wriggling out of the loops around his wrists, stretching happily before reaching down to untie his own legs. He stood, slicking back his hair, and grinned at me.
“It is easy to be fooled by a magician,
“Call her that again and I will hit you twice,” Lane said, matter-of-fact. We all believed him.
Henri smiled as he straightened his sleeves. “What an amusing time we shall have.”
26
I met Mary as I was hurrying down the stairs, she having just rid us of two thoroughly confused policemen. Mary and Lane had already renewed their acquaintance while fighting flames in the kitchen, but I watched her large eyes go a bit larger when he came stepping down behind me. I had not realized just how dead she’d thought he was. After a quick explanation of where we were going and the request that she find Lane something to eat, I dashed back up to Marianna’s room to wash the blood off my face, stuff my hair into the red cap, and put on Mr. Babcock’s pants.
When I came down again, Henri had surrounded himself with a new cloud of cigarette smoke in the already sooty foyer, watched carefully by a slouching Joseph, who had his jacket on, his pants tucked into his boots, apparently coming with us. Lane was silently finishing two pieces of bread with some sort of meat in between, his hair dripping. He must have dunked his head in a bucket. He caught sight of me on the stairs, and his expression so mimicked Mary’s first reaction to seeing me in my ridiculous clothing that the comparison might have been comic had the whole situation not been my worst nightmare. I saw Henri’s eyes sparkle.
“Miss Tulman has her own sense of fashion,
I ignored him. I had watched Lane’s face change from incredulous to dubious, and now I was observing the stubborn line of his mouth. That he would think I wasn’t coming had never crossed my mind. I hastened across the foyer to set him straight.
“I’ve no time to argue with you,” I said. “If they’ve given Uncle Tully the contents of that bottle, he is going to wake badly.”
Lane’s scowl deepened. “How badly?”
“The worst I’ve seen. He hurt himself and, Lane, he hasn’t had a glimpse of you in eighteen months.” I could have told him it had been five hundred and sixty-three days. “Uncle Tully is going to need me. You’re going to need me if you want to get him out, and if we’re going to crawl about underground I’ll be of no use to you in petticoats.”
