Page 24 of Traitor in Her Arms (The Scarlet Chronicle 2)

“The White Sapphire is a bracelet encrusted with precious jewels.” The comte paced as he spoke. “Louis XIV had it made for Madame de Montespan, one of his mistresses.”

“Why is it so precious?” Diana asked.

“Because at the center of the…how do you say it?” The comte made a gesture with his fingers about his wrist.

“Cuff,” Gabrielle supplied.

“Oui. At the center of the cuff is a large sapphire. A white sapphire. These are extremely rare in nature. In fact, this may be the only one in existence.”

“After the attack on Versailles by the French mobs,” Gabrielle continued, “the palace was looted. It is believed most of the treasures were carried off and lost forever. Including le Saphir Blanc.”

“Yes.” The comte nodded. “But Citoyen Toulan has information as to the whereabouts of the bracelet. He claims his great-grandfather was the jeweler who designed it, and he wants it for sentimental value.”

“Do you believe him?” Diana asked.

“No. These revolutionaries are no better than theancien régime. They are greedy and power hungry. But it is the price for my wife. I would gladly pay such a price, but I cannot return to France. Too many would recognize me, and I would be murdered immediately. If that would help my wife, I would do it in a moment…”

“But it will not help your wife. Only the bracelet can do that,” Gabrielle said.

The comte looked at her directly. “And the Scarlet Pimpernel says you are the woman to steal it.”

“I will try,” Gabrielle said. She looked at Cressy and Diana, but there was no longer any sign of their adamant objections to her going. In fact, both appeared to have been swayed by the comte’s story and were nodding their heads.

Cressy stepped forward from the corner in which she’d stood in order to appear unobtrusive, as good servants did. “If anyone can steal this bracelet, it’s Lady McCullough. Where is it? Is it guarded?”

The comte looked sad. “I do not know this information, madam. It has not been entrusted to me. I have only this.” He reached into his tailcoat and extracted a thick white envelope, which he handed to Gabrielle.

She studied the envelope. On the front was written her name. On the back, it was sealed with scarlet wax, bearing the imprint of a small flower. She took a quick, sharp breath. “The Scarlet Pimpernel,” she whispered.

She hesitated at the seal, feeling if she broke it she was obliged to accept the Pimpernel’s mission. But hadn’t she accepted it in her heart already? How could she refuse this desperate man? How could she allow a woman to be murdered and her child orphaned in a cold, harsh prison?

Gabrielle’s hands shook slightly as she brushed the imprint of the flower and then snapped the seal. Inside were several folded sheets of paper. The first sheet she pulled out was thick and creamy, its whiteness marred with black ink. The words were written in a scrawling, confident hand.

Burn this after reading.

Attached are your papers, as promised. Sail from Dover on the schoonerFugitivetomorrow night at nine sharp.

In Paris, go to the house at 33 Rue Saint-Honoré and await further instructions.

Gabrielle unfolded the forged papers and saw that she was to be Citoyenne Gabrielle Leboeuf, lace maker. She read the missive and papers twice, but feared she wouldn’t remember everything. She would burn them before she reached Paris.

She tucked the papers into her pocket and glanced up to find all eyes upon her. She rose and extended her hand to the comte. “Monsieur, I assure you I will do all in my power to save your wife and child. I’m leaving for Paris right away, as a matter of fact. God willing, you will see your wife and daughter soon.”

The comte kissed her hand. “Thank you, my lady. Thank you.S’il vous plaît,if there is ever anything I can do to repay this kindness, do not hesitate to ask. I am not wholly without means. I have the ear of your King George. But even your powerful king cannot stop the hand of the devil.”

Cressy showed him out, and Gabrielle collapsed in her chair and looked at Diana, seated beside her. “I must be mad. I need to order post-horses directly and travel to Dover. I sail for Paris tomorrow night on a ship calledFugitive.”

“Appropriate.”

“Isn’t it?” Gabrielle closed her eyes. “My papers claim I’m Gabrielle Leboeuf, a lace maker.”

“Do you know anything about lace?” Diana asked.

“It’s pretty.”

“Well, at least your French is beyond reproach. I’ve always envied your facilities with language.”

“Let’s hope I sound enough like a lace maker not to arouse suspicion.”

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