CHAPTER 20
Lost in the Woods
Robert chose the table in the corner of the empty restaurant, from which he could watch the door as the maitre d' snapped for a waiter to pull out the chair. "White wine or red tonight, monsieur?"
"A blond ale will do."
"Certainly." The man bowed and sent his staff scurrying. Robert unbuttoned his jacket and adjusted his cuffs in his sleeves as a server came to set his place. "May I suggest the special stuffed snail?"
"The squid persillade, I think."
"Ah, yes-very well, monsieur," he bowed, and tucked his tray beneath his arm as he went away.
Robert pulled his watch from his pocket and noted it was not like a seaman to be late. As he snapped it closed, the wind blew a man through the door. He was tall enough without the black fedora he swept from his head, and still thin, despite his cloaked illusion. His hair might have faded, but there was no mistaking the newcomer's fierce gaze when it stopped on his table.
"Robert." The Count of Mandelieu stretched out a hand in greeting and gripped Robert's shoulders to kiss each cheek as if they were compatriots.
"Claudius."
"Asseyez-vous; sit down, sit down," Rouget insisted, his habit of mixing French and English unchanged. It was the other man's meeting, and sufficient for the count to play the host, so Robert reclaimed his chair dutifully.
Claudius looked around for the waiter while tugging at his gloves. "Cabernet," he ordered, circumventing the man's hasty course. "Actuellement/" he grunted, taking the opposite chair, "I'm sorry to be late. It's not so far, but some idiot dropped a wagonload of melon a few streets over. Mon Dieu/ quel gdcbis. It makes one wonder if it is worth it to even come away from the harbor." He paused to taste his wine. "Bon/" he deemed with satisfaction, and ordered a carafe, along with a plate of stuffed mushrooms. After the waiter had gone, the count considered Robert over his wine. "Comment avez-vous iti; how have you been? How's your magnificent wife, Maureen?"
"She is well, thank you."
Claudius smiled and tipped his head to the side. "Well? Just well?" He chuckled amiably. "What has happened to your joie de vivre, mon ami? Or perhaps things have not gone so well as you had planned up in England?"
The door opened to admit a trio of burly men. Robert kept his focus on the count while the maitre d' showed the men to a nearby table. They scarcely had time to scrape into chairs before the bell on the door jingled, signaling the beginning of a crowd.
Now Robert only went through the motions of drinking the thin foam from his beer, while the count's men found places between his table and the door. He wore his saber on his belt and packed twin pistols beneath his coat, but the two- bullet limit of each taxed him as much as it ever had. None of the newcomers evidenced any weapons, but the rough-looking gathering was not here for a show.
The Frenchman continued his cordial banter as the waiter brought wine and the hors d'oeuvres, split onto a pair of plates. "Bon appetit." The Count of Mandelieu was not above speaking around the food in his mouth. "Not bad, eh? Le secret est dans l'ail."
"If you like garlic."
"Who doesn't like garlic?" the count chortled, tossing another mushroom after the first. "Maybe only someone who's been in England too long."
Robert withstood his barb impassively. "I was surprised to read about Quenton Saint-Descoteaux's arrest in the newspaper."
"Ah," the count said, grinning appreciatively. "Mon ami) you're as blunt as ever."
"I have a ferry to catch."
"Oh, there's always the next one," Rouget reasoned enthusiastically. "How often is it that we see each other-how many years has it been? lci) eat a few of your mushrooms and tell me of Maureen. How many children she has given you? Vous savei) Robert, there are more important things than miscreants rotting in prison."
"Descoteaux is far from a troublemaker. That letter was a fake, and you know it."
"Eh bien) oui) bien sur-but who was foolish enough to carry it?"
"Henri was his brother," Robert reminded him pointedly. "You're intent on perpetuating this hoax?"
"Moi? I'm not the one holding him."
"Perhaps not, but you can arrange for his freedom."
"Peut-etre-that remains to be seen-but since when does Henri's brother mean so much to you?"
Robert sat back carefully when his plate of fried squid arrived. No longer able to stomach the thought of eating, he reached into his pocket and palmed a silver coin onto the table for payment. His fare did not slip past the count's notice, but the nobleman shrugged forgivingly.
"Come now, Robert; you know what they say about silence speaking for you."
"He reminds me of Henri," Robert revealed reluctantly. "Why shouldn't he? And it's not odd that we'd become acquainted in England."
"No," Rouget replied, and drained his wineglass, before reaching across without invitation and helping himself to a ring of squid. "I suppose not." He tossed it into his mouth and savored it briefly. "You are close."
"No," Robert refuted, appraising their silent audience. "He's a business acquaintance."
"You don't mind if I observe that you've gone through a good deal of trouble, for an acquaintance."
"I'll admit to using his expertise from time to time."
The count laughed. "Expertise, eh? Of what kind, Robert? Or is that a question I might better ask of Maureen?"
Robert found his feet and sword simultaneously. The blade sang to life with deadly swiftness that froze the scrambling reaction of the count's men. He kept the tip of his rapier beneath Rouget's aquiline nose and, making his meaning evident, freed a pistol from beneath his coat with his left hand. He wagged it with the barrel pointed at the ceiling. "Mind that I don't take offense."
"Mon ami." The count grinned, testing the sword tip with a cautious finger. "Je suis desole; s'il vous plait, pardonnez-moi. I meant no disrespect. All Frenchmen have a certain . . . cbarme, a savoir faire, un gout pour fa vie, don't you think?"
"Don't bother to apologize; just get Descoteaux out of prison and forget about him." "Oh, now, Robert-"
"I'm leaving," he finished, pinning the frozen group with a sweeping gaze to leave no doubt about his seriousness. "Thank you for clearing up the unfortunate misunderstanding about le Marquis de Limoges. I'll look forward to reading about his release in the newspaper."
"But you don't know what you ask. Paris is a long way from Marseille, and I keep telling you, it's not up to me."
"Then I suggest that you find someone to convince," Robert countered. Keeping his sword en garde and his pistol aloft, he edged toward the door.
"Be careful, Robert. Have you considered that you might be mistaken?"
"It wouldn't be the first time I've regretted a decision," Robert revealed, as he maneuvered to the door. "With that, I bid you adieu."
He did not stop moving once outside, but stashed his sword as he crossed the avenue in spotty streetlight. Feeling the weight of the conversation when he reached the opposite side, he holstered his pistol and buttoned his evening jacket. Before the restaurant door opened, he turned away from the ferry waiting at the dock and sought the cloaking darkness.
THE MEN WERE AFIELD, bow hunting, so, after an early lunch, Sarah took Alix and Mary on a tour of the Deer Park. Alix did not mind that she was again riding the black-and-white gelding, even if he preferred to walk with his eyes half-closed, complacently trailing the other horses. She ignored the protest of her knee around the sidesaddle pommel, while Domino followed so readily that she might ha<