Page 44 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Because it brought Catherine in. But Léon wasn’t about to give that secret up so easily after what Henry had done. “Émile first. Is he with Souveraine?”
Henry assessed him, then tried him. “He is, but he’s not at the cabin. You’ll never find him. Where’s Catherine?”
Léon leaned forward on a long arm, fingernails digging into the dirt. “Where’s Émile?”
“Catherine,” Henry growled back.
“Émile!” Léon snapped.
Henry raised his gloved finger right beneath Léon’s flaring nostrils. “Tell me now!”
“She’ll die,” Léon warned with a slow shake of his head.
“Then so will Émile. And the barmaid, just for good measure.”
Léon could barely think for the fury that felt like it was splitting every vein in two, sending a flush of heat to his extremities, despite the chill air of the forest. But behind it he was still counting out those seconds, always, always keeping note of life ebbing away. And Catherine would die, one way or another, if he didn’t move fast. “Pig!” he spat, shoving Henry back to the ground as he pushed himself up, striding out of the alcove before Henry could catch him.
He moved fast up the path, paying no attention to the fact their horse was missing, only pausing when he heard the click of Henry’s flintlock pistol, a sound he was thoroughly sick of by that time. He flung around, throwing his arms out wide. “Oh, you’re going to kill me? Before you get your sister back? Really? I’m terrified.”
Henry held the gun steady, perfectly emasculated as he was. “Where are you going?”
“She was on that cart, you fool. No wonder you got into the mess you did. You’re not very bright, are you?”
Henry jogged up beside him, slipping the pistol back into its holster. “I can guarantee I spent a lot longer at school than you did.”
“Oh? And which school was that? Moron Academy for Pompous Bores?”
“Don’t try to act superior with me, Ange. We all know what you do for a living.”
Léon pulled to a sharp stop, turning to Henry. “And just what do you do for a living?”
Henry also stopped, his annoyingly well-formed pink lips wavering as he tried to find a way around answering the question.
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Léon finished for him, lowering his eyes over Henry’s silk and leather in what he hoped was a perfectly dismissive glare.
He kept on up the path, still angry, but a little calmer, having won that particular point over Henry, small as it was. Henry kept apace beside him, quietly fuming, but very much on the back foot, as Léon did appear to hold all the cards at that precise moment. He was sure he’d turn it in his favour soon enough.
For another fifty metres, they trudged on in uneasy silence, until there came a sharp turn, where a clearing began to reveal itself. With it, one of the worst smells Henry had ever experienced in his entire life assaulted him. “What is that?”
“What’s what?” Léon grumbled angrily, looking straight ahead.
“That smell! What is this place?”
Léon gave him an uncomfortable side-glance. His mouth curled into a grimace.
Henry pushed forward to look him in the eye. “What aren’t you telling me? What?”
Pulling up again, Léon lowered his voice and dropped his head. “Listen, you’re about to see something…” He made himself meet Henry’s eyes. “Really terrible. There are no other words for it.”
Blood washed from Henry’s cheeks as every idea of what that statement could mean crashed in on him. “What have you done?”
Before Léon could answer, Henry dashed for the clearing, but in three steps, Léon had caught his wrist and wrenched him back around. “There will be bodies. Dead bodies. A lot of them.” A sharp sympathy came over Léon with the despairing horror that flashed across Henry’s face. “That cart… That was the body cart.”
“Body cart? What… What do you mean?” But Henry knew. He knew before the words had left his lips, but he couldn’t fathom that Léon would have allowed it to happen. “My god,” he whispered. “What have you done?”
23
THE PIT
