Page 98 of Echo in the Wind

He stepped back and the vehicle rolled through the archway into the street, the horses’ hooves clambering over the cobblestones as they took off across Paris.

Still wondering what he had meant by his parting comment, she gazed out the window, seeing in the daylight what she had missed the night before. In some places, waste ran down the middle of the street as it did in London, the stench rising to her open window. The carriage wheels splattered mud everywhere. She would have to remind Donet their large cities were not so dissimilar.

But she did notice one difference.

In London, everyone walked, but in Paris the carriage seemed to be the preferred means of getting around, at least for those who could afford it. The conveyances, both large and small, were everywhere, crowding the streets as they struggled to pass each other.

Once outside the city, they sped down dirt roads that meandered through dense stands of oaks. The sun filtering through the green leaves made for a beautiful canopy above them. Gratefully, she inhaled deeply of the country air, a delightful change from the smell of the city. The carriages were fewer here, as well.

The two-hour journey gave her much time to reflect on the path she had taken since leaving England. She had chosen to become the mistress of the man she loved, hoping for more, but he had not spoken of a future together. She feared broaching the subject because it would dig up the ghosts of his past and touch his hidden scars.

He had come to Paris to see the king, but she was certain he had other business to attend to. The matter of what happened in Saintonge remained to be solved. And after that, what would he do?

This morning, he had asked her to come back to him as if he thought she might not. What could he mean?

Her position as his mistress was not a comfortable one but, thus far, it had not caused her to be shunned in Polite Society. In England, however, the downfall of an earl’s sister would be on every tongue. There were no secrets in le bon ton. She would not be able to move among the ton as before and Richard would never forgive her. Too, it might ruin Tillie’s chances for a good match.

A sigh escaped her lips as she remembered he had made it her choice. She had let go of the life she once had to embrace another. Now she must wait to see what that new life held for her.

Jean had an idea of the identity of the man who had been horrified by his appearance at Versailles. Among Necker’s friends were a few unsavory characters that might hire brigands to carry out vengeance. A sword and pistol would be their usual methods. Arranging a carriage accident was a subtler weapon, though no less effective than a knife slitting a throat, the body left in a dark alley.

The man he intended to call upon could help him.

He ducked into a narrow street not far from the Seine and knocked on the first door.

A dark head of curls framed the ruddy face of the brawny man that appeared. “Ah ça alors, it is the capitaine!”

“Bonjour, Gaspar. May I come in?”

“Oui, of course. Come, come!” Jean’s former carpenter led the way into his apartments. “My wife is shopping with the children so we have the place to ourselves. I was just about to have some déjeuner. Would you join me?”

“Coffee only.”

Gaspar said a few words to the gaping servant girl who disappeared into the kitchen. He walked to a room facing a small inner courtyard. The bricked yard contained pots of various sizes overflowing with plants. All the pots were set on neat wooden benches and shelves.

Gaspar offered Jean a seat on one of the well-crafted chairs at the polished table.

“I see your woodworking skills are as fine as ever,” noted Jean.

Gaspar gestured to the courtyard. “My wife likes to grow things and I must accommodate her with places to put the pots.”

“Is the new business keeping you in coin?”

Gaspar smiled. “I have not lacked for livres since turning my skills to the Paris trade. But you have not come for a new chair or a cabinet, n’est-ce pas?”

“Non. I come for information. My father and my brother were murdered in Saintonge in an arranged carriage accident.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Capitaine. What bastard did it? What information do you seek so that we might end his days?”

“What I say next must remain between us.”

“Bien entendu,” Gaspar graciously agreed.

The excitement in Gaspar’s eyes bespoke his longing for their days as privateers. But Jean would not ask his friend to partake in the vengeance he had in mind. “I don’t know who did it, but perhaps you can help me find out. I understand my brother Henri had been working for our old friend the comte de Vergennes, gathering evidence against Jacques Necker.”

“Ah. A very powerful enemy, that one. Mon Dieu, until a few years ago, Necker controlled all the wealth of France.”

“He did, but he made enemies of the king and queen with lies about the state of France’s finances he fed to the people. That is why Calonne is now Finance Minister. Vergennes believes Henri was murdered—and my father along with him—for his work against Necker. I need to know who is behind the killings, be he noble or peasant.”