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‘I know, but I have been putting it off. I try not to think about it at all because it makes me angry and having to drag it up again and explain myself is going to be hard. I have enough to contend with without that.’
‘Does Wentworth know who the Piccadilly Gentlemen are?’
‘I don’t know, but I doubt it. You have not been active of late and my father has been talking of winding up the Association. You are all past the first bloom of youth.’
‘You do have a way of making a fellow feel good, Jay. I’ll have you know I’m as fit as a man half my age.’
Jay laughed. ‘And twice as wily.’
‘You may be thankful for that, ere long, my friend.’
‘I meant it as a compliment.’
They had arrived at the corner of the street where they stopped. ‘I have to meet Pierre Martin,’ Jay said. ‘He is my go-between with the National Convention. I think he is going to suggest I appease Robespierre by promising him at least some of the names he asked for. I’ll have to prevaricate. There is nothing would make me betray you.’
‘That goes without saying, Jay. Come and see me when you are done. I will be at the Cross Keys. It’s in the Rue St Antoine. Bring Sam. We can talk business.’
‘It might be late.’
‘No matter. Any time before midnight.’
Jay watched Harry walk away. He seemed perfectly at ease, but Jay was worried. Harry’s was one of the names Robespierre wanted and his presence in Paris put him in great danger. He would have to persuade him his help was not needed and he and the others should go home. It was a great pity because he could be a great asset. He would meet them later and glean as much advice as possible before they left. It meant he would not have that talk with Lisette as planned, but that was just as well. The truth might easily sully their relationship, tenuous as it was; she might even go off to meet Wentworth. Even thinking about such a possibility had him clenching his fists.
Lisette roamed about the house all evening, poking into rooms she had not entered before, reading the titles on the books in the library, even going so far as to pull one out, but she could not settle to read. There was too much going on in her head. Did Jay go out on purpose to avoid talking to her about her uncle? Early on she had been convinced there was antipathy between the two men, but now she realised it was downright enmity. What had happened between them? Who was in the right and who in the wrong? Would it make a difference about how she felt about Jay? Did she really want to know? What she had seen of her uncle, she had not liked. There seemed to be a threat in every word he had said. Perhaps it was better to remain in ignorance.
There was a desk in the library and some pens and ink on it. She found some paper and began making a list of things in her brother’s favour and things against his release. When she had finished, she put the pen down with a heavy sigh.
There was so little in the positive column, except a tenuous defence which the prosecuting counsel would easily demolish. She had added Lord Portman to that side as well as Jay’s earlier success at freeing her father. On the opposite side The list was much longer. Michel was in a secure prison, closely guarded and not allowed visitors. The Revolutionaries were intent on doing away with the nobility, especially anyone who was loyal to the King. Michel had been with Louis when he tried to flee and had stayed at his post even after his Majesty had been sent to the Temple. He had fought with Henri Canard and Henri Canard was not one to let the matter drop. Lastly, no one could be found to defend him in court.
It made her so miserable, she screwed the paper into a ball and threw it in the fire. If only Jay would come home. She needed him. Even if they were quarrelling, it was better than sitting alone dwelling on what seemed insurmountable problems. One of the biggest was that Jay did not love her. What his motives were for offering help, she did not know, but it was certainly not love.
She picked at a frugal supper, then went to bed, where she lay awake, trying to think of ways of freeing her brother without Jay Drymore’s help. The only way she could think of was to throw herself on the mercy of Robespierre or Danton, but how could she do that without telling them her real name and betraying Jay?
She heard low voices in the corridor outside her bedroom and then the sound of something being dropped with a thud, followed by an oath. She crept to the door and flung it open. Jay was in the act of bending to pick up the shoe he had dropped and Sam was creeping past, his shoes in his hand. Both were dressed very shabbily in black suits going green with age and the red cap of the Revolution. Their faces were dirty, their hair matted. She burst into laughter.
