Page 42 of The Avenging Angel and the Spy
“Gentlemen.” She acknowledged them all in her cool, clear voice. Baptiste beamed at her while Crecy stopped eating long enough to scramble to his feet with a polished bow. Only Lazare remained seated, twisting his head to stare at her.
“Our intrepid leader at last,” he drawled.
Belle ignored him as though he had not even spoken. “I am glad that all of you could be so prompt. Pray do not stand on formality. Please be seated.”
Baptiste and Crecy settled themselves upon the settee. Sinclair drew up a stiff-backed chair, but remained near the windows, deliberately keeping outside of the circle, the betterto observe. As Belle closed the double doors behind her, Lazare called out, “So where’s the dark-haired slut?”
“If you mean Paulette,” Belle said, “I saw no need for her to join us today. She is usefully engaged in taking care of more practical matters such as the marketing.”
“Indeed.” Crecy paused from licking his fingers to chortle. “Even spies must eat.”
“Some more so than others.” Lazare shot him a contemptuous look, before turning back to Belle. “You kept us cooling our heels long enough. We are all breathless to hear your instructions.”
With a fixed smile, Belle approached Lazare.”To begin with, you can remember you are under my roof, not in a tavern.” She swept Lazare’s feet off the table, knocking them to the floor. Then she snatched the cap off his head, tossing it into his lap.
Lazare caught it reflexively. He stiffened, his eyes flashing dangerously. Sinclair tensed, coming half off his chair. If Lazare made one move-
But with great visible effort Lazare controlled his temper. He stuffed the cap down on the seat beside him and settled back. Sinclair sat back down, yet felt far from easy. Lazare, his mouth set in a sullen line, resumed snapping the ends of the rope between his fingers.
You are going to have more than your share of trouble with that one, Angel, Sinclair mused grimly. If Belle thought so, too, no sign of it appeared in her cool demeanor, but Crecy mopped nervously at his brow with a handkerchief.
“It would seem to already be a trifle warm in here,” Crecy muttered.
“I will open the window a crack.” The restless Baptiste was ready to leap up at once to do so, but Belle stayed him.
“You are forgetting the rain.”
“And the infernal noise from the street,” Lazare growled.
“That is the music of Paris.” Although Baptiste subsided back in his seat, he raised his face eagerly to Belle. “Did you happen to notice yester eve,mon ange-the bells of Notre Dame? They ring again.”
Belle relaxed her rigid manner enough to smile at him. “I noticed, my friend.”
“That at least is one good that Monsieur Bonaparte has brought, the restoration of our faith.”
Lazare snorted. “The restoration of superstition, old man. The way of the wealthy to control the minds of the peasants.”
A glint of mischief twinkled in Baptiste’s eyes. “As one of the latter, Lazare, I expect you would know.”
Before Lazare could retort, Belle stepped smoothly in between them. “We already wander from the purpose of this meeting, gentlemen. I don’t think I need to remind you what this is. We had best begin by pooling what information we already possess on Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“Damned little—” Lazare began, but Belle cut him off.
“You who have been in Paris for the past few years possess an advantage over me and Sinclair. Thus far we have only obtained a glimpse of the first consul. Does he often parade thus through the streets?”
“Frequently,” Crecy said. “He believes such a display gives the citizens a feeling of security in their government.”
“It works quite well,” Baptiste added in jovial tones. “I know every time I see our brave young general, I sleep a little more snugly in my bed.”
Lazare leaned forward impatiently. “This is the plan, then? To snatch Bonaparte off the streets in full view of the populace of Paris? Wonderfully clever. How brilliant.”
Sinclair shifted on his chair. It was his plan to observe in silence, to have his presence overlooked as much as possible, but he was beginning to have a bellyful of Lazare’s sarcastic remarks.
“Maybe if you could hold your tongue, Lazare,” he said, his pleasant tone not quite disguising his irritation, “Belle might have a chance to explain what she has in mind.”
Lazare’s attention snapped to Sinclair. Giving him a hard stare, his hands jerked a knot in the rope with which he toyed. “And maybe, Englishman, if you want to keep your tongue?—”
“Gentlemen, please. We are not here to quarrel amongst ourselves.” Pacing before the fireplace, Belle heaved a wearied sigh. She turned back, appearing to gather the ends of her patience. “Of course I don’t intend to assault Bonaparte in the streets, Lazare. Part of our course of action will be to determine less public places where he might be found.”
