passion.
Unforgettable even for a man of excess.
----
Chapter Two
"I want the Englishwoman found," a tall, grim-faced man asserted, tapping his fist into his palm, his eyes the unforgiving color of ice. Surveying his companions at breakfast, Jerome Clouard added in a low growl, "We can't have her going to Clouet."
"We've a watch at the solicitor's office and at the judge's," a smaller man bearing a familial resemblance quickly affirmed. "Another at the coaching station for Calais, three more covering the routes north. The neighboring police prefects are all under observation." His gaze came up from his coddled egg. "Also, Langelier's man tells me she was without friends in the city, so—"
"It sounds as though you're rid of Madame Grosvenor," a younger version of the two men interposed. "Sit down, Jerome, and relax. She's gladly gone from the city. I'll bet a thousand francs on it."
"If you had a thousand francs, Victor," Jerome rebuked.
"Do us all a favor and eat. A rasher or two of bacon might mitigate your rudeness," Victor retorted. Disparaging remarks about his gambling habit were all too familiar.
"I recommend the coffee this morning," Phillipe, the man eating his egg, blandly remarked, his spoon arrested just short of his mouth. "And the sweetbreads with mushrooms are particularly fine. Is there any news concerning Langelier's murderer?" he casually inquired, clearly not as agitated as his brother.
"Some Balkan rabble from the looks of it," Jerome replied, sitting down at the breakfast table, a faint frown still creasing his forehead. "The murder weapon was found in the gutter," he went on, reaching for the coffee. "A Macedonian ax blade, the prefect said."
"A paid killer, then," Phillipe said through a mouthful of egg.
Jerome nodded.
"Hired by one of Langelier's numerous enemies." Victor Clouard gambled in the same clubs.
"Creditors, you mean," the older man corrected his younger brother. "The man owed everyone."
Victor looked up from his brioche. "He won on occasion."
"Not from you I hope."
"Would I tell you if he had?" Victor coolly countered. "Although you weren't supplying him with enough money to play high."
"
Au contraire
. We paid him a substantial sum to keep Theodore's paramour captive."
"I never understood that," Victor noted, disgust evident in his tone. "Holding her prisoner. Why not buy off the judge instead?"
"The woman's petition had been scheduled for Clouet's jurisdiction. The risk was too great."
"The boy
is
Theo's son," Victor maintained.
"Perhaps." Phillipe's jowls quivered with the same indignation he'd exhibited when he'd first heard the news of Christopher's birth. "A woman like that—who knows?"
"Theo adored her and his son. If she could have divorced, he would have married her. Surely you know that."
Jerome's eyes snapped with affront. "Are you defending her?"
"There's no need to defend her," Victor replied. "Theo's will was quite specific." 2
"Our nephew was a wild, bohemian artist without morals," Jerome irritably declared, cutting his bacon into precise lengths. "Hardly the kind of person likely to make a practical decision about his life."
"Some would debate your view." Victor had never understood the paradox between Jerome's righteous propriety and his unprincipled malevolence.
"Theodore died at thirty-two from debauch and excess. Any
proper
person would understand the unbalanced state of his mind."
"He died of a horseracing accident, not excess."
"Because his racers were as wild as he."
"A shame Clouet won't interpret the law to suit your bias," Victor sardonically noted. "The man's integrity must be disturbing."
"Clouet may no longer be a problem now that the Englishwoman has disappeared. And should she reappear—"
"All likely locations are being watched," Phillipe interjected. "The Grosvenors are being apprised of her escape as well," he went on with a self-satisfied smile. "If she returns there, we'll be notified."
"I'm surprised you didn't have
Unforgettable even for a man of excess.
----
Chapter Two
"I want the Englishwoman found," a tall, grim-faced man asserted, tapping his fist into his palm, his eyes the unforgiving color of ice. Surveying his companions at breakfast, Jerome Clouard added in a low growl, "We can't have her going to Clouet."
"We've a watch at the solicitor's office and at the judge's," a smaller man bearing a familial resemblance quickly affirmed. "Another at the coaching station for Calais, three more covering the routes north. The neighboring police prefects are all under observation." His gaze came up from his coddled egg. "Also, Langelier's man tells me she was without friends in the city, so—"
"It sounds as though you're rid of Madame Grosvenor," a younger version of the two men interposed. "Sit down, Jerome, and relax. She's gladly gone from the city. I'll bet a thousand francs on it."
"If you had a thousand francs, Victor," Jerome rebuked.
"Do us all a favor and eat. A rasher or two of bacon might mitigate your rudeness," Victor retorted. Disparaging remarks about his gambling habit were all too familiar.
"I recommend the coffee this morning," Phillipe, the man eating his egg, blandly remarked, his spoon arrested just short of his mouth. "And the sweetbreads with mushrooms are particularly fine. Is there any news concerning Langelier's murderer?" he casually inquired, clearly not as agitated as his brother.
"Some Balkan rabble from the looks of it," Jerome replied, sitting down at the breakfast table, a faint frown still creasing his forehead. "The murder weapon was found in the gutter," he went on, reaching for the coffee. "A Macedonian ax blade, the prefect said."
"A paid killer, then," Phillipe said through a mouthful of egg.
Jerome nodded.
"Hired by one of Langelier's numerous enemies." Victor Clouard gambled in the same clubs.
"Creditors, you mean," the older man corrected his younger brother. "The man owed everyone."
Victor looked up from his brioche. "He won on occasion."
"Not from you I hope."
"Would I tell you if he had?" Victor coolly countered. "Although you weren't supplying him with enough money to play high."
"
Au contraire
. We paid him a substantial sum to keep Theodore's paramour captive."
"I never understood that," Victor noted, disgust evident in his tone. "Holding her prisoner. Why not buy off the judge instead?"
"The woman's petition had been scheduled for Clouet's jurisdiction. The risk was too great."
"The boy
is
Theo's son," Victor maintained.
"Perhaps." Phillipe's jowls quivered with the same indignation he'd exhibited when he'd first heard the news of Christopher's birth. "A woman like that—who knows?"
"Theo adored her and his son. If she could have divorced, he would have married her. Surely you know that."
Jerome's eyes snapped with affront. "Are you defending her?"
"There's no need to defend her," Victor replied. "Theo's will was quite specific." 2
"Our nephew was a wild, bohemian artist without morals," Jerome irritably declared, cutting his bacon into precise lengths. "Hardly the kind of person likely to make a practical decision about his life."
"Some would debate your view." Victor had never understood the paradox between Jerome's righteous propriety and his unprincipled malevolence.
"Theodore died at thirty-two from debauch and excess. Any
proper
person would understand the unbalanced state of his mind."
"He died of a horseracing accident, not excess."
"Because his racers were as wild as he."
"A shame Clouet won't interpret the law to suit your bias," Victor sardonically noted. "The man's integrity must be disturbing."
"Clouet may no longer be a problem now that the Englishwoman has disappeared. And should she reappear—"
"All likely locations are being watched," Phillipe interjected. "The Grosvenors are being apprised of her escape as well," he went on with a self-satisfied smile. "If she returns there, we'll be notified."
"I'm surprised you didn't have
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