Page 59 of The Count’s Charade

Henri hesitated. “I cannot tell.” Which was true, even if his intent was to lie.

He kept his eyes on the magistrate, in whom the beginnings of frustration were appearing. He could sympathise. It was apparent Jean-Marc had been cagey, giving little away. But Sir James was not beaten.

“You informed Wooferton that Rousselle was a revolutionary, and that he worked as an aide to Robespierre.”

Henri thought a shade of wariness came into Jean-Marc’s face. He answered briefly. “I said it, yes.”

“Is that all his crime?”

“This is not a crime. Citizen Robespierre has been an enemy of the République. But we do not therefore say that all who work for him are also enemies.”

Sans doute! Seeing that Jean-Marc was another of his aides. It would not suit him at all to indict Henri for that alone. That his so-called friend had denounced him could not be in doubt. That he had done it to save himself was evident. It was possible it had been at Jean-Marc’s instigation that Robespierre had begun his own investigation on Henri. Certain that Jean-Marc, well placed to garner intelligence, had been the appointed investigator. It was only after Robespierre had fallen that he had suborned Etienne. One could not tell about Augustin.

His thoughts faded as he heard Sir James addressing Jean-Marc. “If you wish to address the prisoner in French, m’sieur, pray do so.”

What was this? Did the magistrate hope that if they spoke in their own tongue, either might make a slip? Doubtless he understood a little French at least. Jean-Marc was regarding him with disdain. But he spoke in English, and to Sir James.

“I have nothing to say to one who is a traitor to France, m’sieur.”

Sir James leaned forward. “If he has not been tried, how do you know he is a traitor?”

Ha! Answer him that, if you can, Jean-Marc. But his enemy would not be easily rattled, he knew.

“There is evidence enough. En plus, there are those who stand witness against him. I have seen and heard, m’sieur.”

“But you won’t tell me the substance of your complaint?”

Jean-Marc’s eyes flashed. “It is not for our enemies to judge our internal affairs!”

Sir James’s cheeks suffused, and he half-rose from his chair. “I would remind you, sir, that your continued presence in this area owes much to my good will.”

Henri watched the tense struggle in his enemy’s features. He could appreciate the man’s invidious position. A French official of his standing could not easily kowtow to the dictates of a foreigner. Exigency won the day.

“Pardon,” murmured Jean-Marc. “This affair is most secret. The threat to our country from the activities of this man is of extreme seriousness.”

The magistrate nodded and sat back. “A pity, since the fellow is out of your hands until I see fit to release him.”

“If you will allow me an interview in private, I may satisfy you, m’sieur.”

“No, no. I will have no man indicted without an opportunity to answer the charges. I suggest you make up your mind to speak before M’sieur Rousselle or not at all.”

Jean-Marc stiffened, but said nothing. Henri found Sir James’s eyes upon him instead. “And you, Rousselle? Have you anything you wish to say to Loriot?”

Deliberately, Henri kept his gaze fixed upon that of the magistrate. “No need, m’sieur. He knows well all that I desire to say.”

A look of exasperation came into Sir James’s face. Henri was sorry for it, but it could not be helped. A confrontation with Jean-Marc would not assist him.

“Very well,” said Sir James. “That will be all, M’sieur Loriot. I will send for you should I require to ask you anything else.”

Jean-Marc hesitated. “When do you return the prisoner to my guard, m’sieur?”

Sir James became haughty. “I don’t know that I will, sir. Why in the world do you suppose I am conducting this enquiry, if not to determine whether you have a case? One thing you may be sure of, M’sieur Loriot. I will not hand over a man to be murdered by your revolutionary authorities without certain and just cause. If you wish to take him back to France, you had better state your case with a good deal more freedom than you have shown. Good day to you, sir!”

The chagrin in Jean-Marc’s face was balm to Henri. In somewhat grim amusement, he watched him remove from the room at the urging of the excise officer. But he was not fool enough to suppose Sir James was on his side. And the moment he put his own cards on the table, the magistrate would seek to check them against what Jean-Marc might have to say. He did not know the man’s true worth, and Henri had no proofs to offer. What documentary evidence he had might be construed in his favour. It would indict his enemy only by demonstration.

“Don’t think I’m finished with you either, young Rousselle,” snapped Sir James, his temper apparently tried beyond endurance. “I want the truth, and I want it sooner rather than later. We’ll see if a period of incarceration won’t bring you to your senses.”

It came as no surprise to Grace when Mab appeared that fatal Tuesday in the early afternoon. She had expected the news to spread with rapidity through the villages. The lamentations of her old nurse might reproach her, but at least they clamoured against the unnerving quiet that had succeeded Henri’s removal from the house.