Page 47 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Henry turned a dazzling smile on the bejewelled and shocked occupants of the carriage. “Pardon me. I hate to interrupt your journey, but I really must relieve you of your carriage. My sister, as you can see—” she waved and smiled at them “—has been in a small scrape, and I find I need to escort her to more genial surroundings forthwith. My accomplice here, Léon?—”
“I am not his accomplice!” Léon wheezed out.
Henry spoke over him. “He’s lost his shirt somewhere along the way, and, for the sake of public decency, it’s fallen to me to cover his shame.”
The eyes of the ladies lingered much longer on Léon’s bare and beautiful skin than they had on Catherine’s soiled dress, but the male occupant spoke up with a blustering, “That may well be, but you can’t just take our carriage.”
“I can,” Henry returned, “because you’re going to step calmly out of my way right now, unless you want your throat slit on this here road.” He smiled sweetly, and Léon would never have thought he was even slightly ruffled by the experience. In fact, it struck Léon just then, Henry seemed rather at home. Like he’d done this before. And suddenly the look on his face when Léon had asked what he did for a living took on a new meaning. Some pub talk that felt like aeons ago played over in his head. ‘Le Baron Noir.’
He couldn’t be…
Henry extended a hand into the carriage. “May I?”
The first of the ladies, taking heart either due to his demeanour or good looks, grabbed hold and let him hand her down from the carriage. She stepped to the side of the road, away from both Léon and Catherine, the latter of whom still held the gun on the driver, and waited with as much calm patience as if their horses had only needed to be watered.
“I’m sorry,” Léon mumbled to her. “It’s a dire situation.”
“Oh, well.” She smiled and blushed. “Some things can’t be helped.”
The next lady, handed down equally graciously, took her place by the other’s side. Léon said, “Reims is just through those woods. A short walk. But mind the pit.”
“Maybe don’t tell them too many shortcuts?” Catherine suggested dryly. “And it’s not a particularly pleasant walk just now, anyway.”
Léon, remembering the heads strewn over the path, chivalrously tried then to change their route with a rambling reflection on the smoothness of the winding gravel road they stood upon, as opposed to the ‘muddy’ forest track, all while the last lady took her place, apparently bemused by the goings on. She interrupted Léon’s diatribe slightly when she leaned close to another, and with eyes on Henry, whispered, “That’s him, isn’t it?”
“I think so!” the other whispered back excitedly.
Finally, the man, who appeared to be their father, lined up beside them, and the women straightened their faces.
Henry, seeing Léon about to continue with his many apologies, directed him towards the carriage with the tip of his sword against his shoulder. Léon took a few reluctant steps away until his back was resting against the lacquered wood. Then Henry jabbed one further metaphorical knife into Léon by turning to his captives and saying, “Before you go, do be so kind as to hand over your money and jewels.”
Léon stepped forward. “You are not robbing these people!”
“No,” replied Henry. “They’ll give it over of their own free will. And you know the consequences if there’s any trouble, Ange.”
The threat was intended for Léon and Léon alone, so he opted to smash himself back against the carriage, clasping his hands tight, waiting for the ordeal to be over.
Upon handing their goods across, the man was outraged, the first lady frightened but compliant, and the second perfectly obliging. The third took her earrings, her bracelets, her rings, and put them all in Henry’s hand before pausing with fingers on her necklace. It was a fine piece of jewellery, made from pearls and amber, featuring a gold and ivory locket, giving gentlemen at parties an excuse to look at her cleavage as they pretended to admire the piece. She fondled it, and Henry, who couldn’t care less about her bosom, asked, “Is there a problem?”
“Well…” She pouted. “It’s only…” She searched his kindly looking face, and seeing little to fear there, gathered her bravery. “This is very special to me. It was a gift from my fiance, and see, he’s away, and I don’t know when I shall see him again, and…” A tear came into her eye, and her sister gripped her arm tight for support. The father kept a wary eye on proceedings, hands twitching by his pockets.
Henry, interest piqued, pointed at the locket and asked, “Is he in there?”
She nodded, raising a handkerchief to her eye.
“May I see?”
Another nod, a reluctant one, and the lady unclasped the jewel. She handed it over with a shaking hand. Henry clicked it open to discover a tiny but expertly made miniature of a dark-haired beauty with bright blue eyes, artistically gazing off into the distance. “My…” He looked up at her. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
“He is,” she whispered.
“Name?”
“Albert.”
“Very beautiful.” He admired the man a moment longer, then snapped the locket closed. “Better keep it.” He took the welcome liberty of leaning in close and securing the necklace himself,pulling a blush and a soft whimper from the lady as his shirt brushed her shoulder. He stood tall and said, “He’s very lucky.”
The woman’s eyes brightened. Henry gave her an audacious wink, and just as he turned back to the carriage, she called, “Sir?”
