Enchantée(110)

“Tell me, please, who fetched her?” Camille asked Tounis.

“Your sister left before the madness started in the streets. I told Madame not to worry,” he said, pleased with himself.

“But where did she go?”

He shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

“Did she go by foot? Or did someone come for her?” Camille has been with Séguin nearly the entire night. He must have had an accomplice, or sent a servant.

“A nice carriage came for her,” he recalled. “That young man was there, too. He stepped out and helped her in.”

They were cursed-slow, these people, as if they had all the time in the world. “Who? What did he look like?”

“Well-dressed?” Tounis examined the painted ceiling, as if the answer might be discovered there.

“His hair, monsieur,” Camille hissed. She felt as if she would suffocate in this pretty room with its cherub ceiling and dainty chairs and its nonsensical people. “What color was it?”

“Fair, I think. No, no, I know! Reddish like yours.”

His words rang tinny in her ears. Reddish like yours.

“I didn’t recognize him,” he went on. “But your sister seemed to know him quite well. When he arrived, she kissed him.” He nodded sternly at Camille.

“You fool, Tounis!” Madame snapped to attention. “Mademoiselle Sophie’s a good girl and she’s not kissing and going off with just any young man in a carriage! That was her brother! Don’t you remember? She introduced us several weeks ago.”

“Not my brother,” stammered Camille. Had Alain given more than his blessing? Had he arranged this?

“Oh yes.” Madame de Théron nodded. “I’m sure he heard what was happening in Paris and he came to take both of you girls to safety. Of course the H?tel Théron is a fortress, so really, it was unnecessary,” Madame said. “But you are a mess, Baroness, and you look like a corpse.”

“Please, sit,” the gatekeeper said, patting the chair cushion as if he suddenly were the host. “I will bring you a cognac.”

Camille was made to sit by the fire, to tip the fiery liquid down her throat. Its heat steadied her. She needed to think what to do next. Where would Alain have taken Sophie? Surely not to wherever he lived. They must have gone to a house the Vicomte de Séguin had in Paris. And she had no idea where it might be. How would she find them if they wanted to remain hidden? Sophie was headstrong and Alain was right there at her elbow, guiding her to her doom.

For certainly it was doom to marry a magician such as Séguin.

Camille rubbed her aching neck. What would she do? What could she do? Sophie had run off with a powerful aristocrat who had no scruples to prevent him from doing whatever he liked. Maybe he would never marry Sophie, only seduce her. And then abandon her. The strangest thing was that he had nearly proposed to Camille, too. Perhaps he wanted one of them—and either Camille or Sophie would do. But why?

What was it Séguin had wanted to talk to Camille about? And Alain, in his letter? She feared she now knew.

“Baroness de la Fontaine,” the gatekeeper said, “you look ill. I will bring you another cognac.”

As soon as he left, Camille reached out to touch Madame de Théron’s hand. “Can you be discreet, madame? My sister is in grave danger. May I have your advice?”

Madame de Théron blinked. “Of course. There is not one person in Paris or Versailles who will not come to my aid,” she said, any uncertainty gone from her voice. “Whatever has happened to our darling Mademoiselle, whatever needs to be done, I will help you.”

“I fear my sister may have gone away with a nobleman. Eloped.”

She gasped. “You mean he seduced her? Here, in my house?”

“I don’t think he came here, madame. The man asked my brother to fetch her, but I don’t know where they’ve gone.” Camille exhaled shakily. “I don’t know what to do!”

Madame de Théron exhaled. “You must go to the queen.”

Marie Antoinette? “What can she do?”

“Ban the rake from court! Send him away, before he can defile your sister. To be banished would be a kiss of death for a man like that!”

Yes. For someone like Séguin, it would be. She could not imagine him anywhere else but the gilded rooms of Versailles. “But I’m nothing to the queen. Why would she help me?”

“For my sake, bien s?r!” snorted Madame de Théron. “You will go with a letter from my own hand. And then watch how the queen brings him to heel.” She swallowed the rest of her brandy. “In this lawless new world, there are still a few rules.”





59


At Madame de Théron’s urging, and with her letter to the queen heavy in her purse, Camille turned back on the dusty road to Versailles. As they made their way out of Paris, they passed the Bastille with its tumbled towers. The drawbridge was down and alongside its moat, a group of men and women were shouting songs and shooting off muskets.

Camille gritted her teeth. She would do what needed to be done.

If she hadn’t brought Sophie to the masked ball, she would never have encountered Séguin again. Unless—they had somehow met before that? On those walks Sophie took? But it didn’t matter. If Camille had kept a closer watch on Sophie, she would never have had the chance to elope with him.