The Companion - Time For Eternity Part 31

"Yes. But he is not a pretty sight."

"Poor Henri." She pushed past Francoise, her satin skirts rustling. They heard the gasp.

Francoise looked back at Jean. "Help me get him into the carriage."

"Should we wait for night?"

"Croute knows what the sun does to him. She'll expect us to wait. We must move now."

Madame Vercheroux came back out onto the porch of the church. Her face was white. She pressed her hand to her mouth.

"Even if he lives ... the scars ... and he was so beautiful."

Francoise cleared her throat. She couldn't tell Madame that he wouldn't scar. "We will need money to get to Le Havre, not only for the journey, but there may be bribes ... Henri can't help us ..."

Madame Vercheroux waved a hand dismissively. "I never travel with less than five thousand francs. I brought some clothes for you and for Henri as well as mine." She gestured to the trunks strapped to the carriage.

"You've been to the house?"

"Of course not. The place has been ransacked. Everything stolen or destroyed." She shook her head, sighing. "But what I have should fit him well enough, and I contrived for you."

Madame Vercheroux had another lover, even though she still loved Henri.

Figures. Frankie sounded disgusted.

Francoise took a breath. "Jean, take the horse and cart out where someone can find them. They will not lack an owner long."

In moments they were away. The crowd outside the carriage shouted and jostled against it. It was only a matter of time until they grabbed the doors, pulled them out, and tore them apart. Henri lay on the floor at their feet covered with a traveling rug. Madame Vercheroux and Francoise had spread their skirts out wide to conceal him. Francoise peeked through the drawn blinds, feeling helpless. Jean was apparently trying to make his way toward the main road to Versailles. That was good. They were tracing the river on the Rue de Grenelle, through the mansions of the Faubourg St. Germain. The crowds must be looting the luxurious houses, empty or not. She leaned out. Jean struggled with the horses as people pushed and shoved around them.

"Into a side street," she shouted. "I'm trying, mademoiselle," he yelled back.

"Beasts!" a woman shrieked over the roar of the crowd. Ahead, the mob surged up the steps of a particularly beautiful house from the last century and through the doors of carved wood. The sound of breaking gla.s.s was echoed again and again as paving stones found windows. A woman on the stairs looked on, her hands to her face in horror. "Traitors!"

It was Madame Croute.

Croute lived in the Faubourg? That was the refuge of the last remnants of the aristocracy. And the crowd knew it. The roar of outrage from the ragged men and women in their ill-fitted clothes made of coa.r.s.e cloth and red revolutionary caps felt like the growl of an animal.

A heavy rococo cabinet sailed out of an upstairs window and the crowd scurried to avoid its impact. Madame Croute shrieked in protest, but fear bloomed in her face. Now she faced the rage of the mob instead of directed it. As the crowd surged around her and into the house, Jean urged the horse forward. People converged on the house from all directions with angry shouts. The first blow to Madame Croute was landed by a brawny man with sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Fragments of the crowd's protests wove themselves into a litany of betrayal, their rage focused on the woman who only seemed to share their ideals.

Francoise sat back as the carriage pulled away, unable to watch a crowd turn into a killing beast for a second time, even if she had no sympathy for its victim.

Francoise sat with Henri's head in her lap in the rocking carriage. Across from her, Madame Vercheroux dozed. The blinds were pulled against the late afternoon sun. It had taken hours to get out of the city. They stopped, in spite of Francoise's protests, for a dinner at an inn, losing nearly two hours as Madame refreshed herself.

Now the sun was setting, washing the countryside in a golden light.

The morphine must be wearing off. Henri rolled his head and groaned from time to time. How she hated that he had to be in pain before he could heal.

He's healing too slowly. After all he's been through, his Companion is exhausted.

Francoise knew what she meant. Henri needed blood. She swallowed around a lump in her throat as he opened his eyes. They clouded in pain. His breathing grew labored.

"How ... how are you?" she asked.

Now that's a stupid question if I ever heard one.

"You came back for me?" His voice was a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "You shouldn't have taken the chance." He glanced over at Madame Vercheroux.

"She came for you too. We're in her carriage on the way to Le Havre."

He blinked against the pain and shook his head ever so slightly. "The Maiden Voyage will have lifted anchor by the time you get there."

She hadn't thought of that. Of course they would be away as soon as Jennings arrived with his charges. Jennings thought Henri was dead.

"I'm a liability. Leave me at Versailles. Book pa.s.sage on the first vessel crossing the Channel at Le Havre."

Versailles. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. No one would think of looking for him there, whereas Robespierre would send straightaway to Le Havre. If he was still alive after she had run him down. Had she killed the little lawyer? Is that what killing felt like?

I don't feel guilty at all about that one.

No. Francoise wasn't even sure he was dead. She resolved not to feel guilty. It had been Robespierre or Henri. She'd choose Henri every time.

And I have unfinished business at Versailles, one way or another. Do it.

Francoise leaned forward, pulled open the window shade a hair. "Jean! Jean, pull in at Versailles. The palace."

"What? What?" Madame Vercheroux snorted, coming to herself.

"Jean will take you on to Le Havre. Henri needs time to recover."

"Henri! Henri, you are alive." Madame Vercheroux leaned forward. "I cannot see you in this dark coach. Let me raise the window shades."

"No!" Francoise and Henri said together.

"The light is what burned him so badly," Francoise said. "He has a ... condition."

"I won't leave you like this," Madame Vercheroux insisted.

But in the end she did. Henri gathered himself and said no captain would take on an injured man obviously running from the authorities. He promised to follow them to England. Francoise let him believe she 'd be going with Madame. It was easier than arguing. They bribed the old caretaker, Brendal, who remembered them from their previous visit, and he and Jean carried Henri up to the king's bedroom. They unloaded one of the trunks from the carriage. When he was tucked in Francoise went down to see Madame off.

"You stay with him?" Madame asked. She didn't seem surprised.

Francoise nodded. "As long as he'll let me."

"I told you not to give your heart." Madame shook her head.

Double standard. She gave him hers.

Francoise said, "One cannot choose where to give one's heart. If it is broken, so be it."

Madame sighed. "I was once as young as you."

Francoise smiled. "You have no idea how old I am. Or how old I feel. Be careful."

"They won't stop us. They are glad to be rid of my kind."

"They would love to take your five thousand francs and the carriage," Francoise warned.

Madame pulled on her gloves. "I will have given the carriage in trade for pa.s.sage before morning. Do you think I will like England? One hates to think of ending in Austria."

"You will be the center of attention wherever you go, madame. " She leaned in to kiss the older woman. "Thank you for everything."

"Fau," Madame said, giving Francoise brisk kisses on both cheeks. "I was tired of France." Her eyes grew soft. "Take care of him." And with a wave of her hand she was gone.

Henri opened his eyes on darkness as the pain crashed over him. Why was it taking him so long to heal? Someone was in the darkness with him. He turned his head.

Francoise sat in a chair beside the great bed. Where was he? Ahhh. Versailles. He recognized the brocade on poor dead Louis's bed. He and Francoise had made love in this bed.

"Why aren't you on your way to Le Havre?" It was night. He could feel it.

"I couldn't leave you to Brendal and his wife. They'd know how badly you were hurt, and see the healing."

They'd know him for a monster, as she did.

"The healing doesn't seem to be going that well," she continued as she stood and adjusted the sheets that covered him.

"Just ... slow. I'm weak."

She chewed her lip. "I know what you need."

The pain made it hard to think. She ... she was opening the throat on her white nightdress. His Companion stirred sluggishly in his veins as it felt the blood beating in the artery in her throat. "Leave me," he rasped. Who knew what he might do in his current state?

She shook her head slowly, and smiled. He could see her pulse in the hollow of her neck. "It's safest if you do it. But if you can't raise your Companion, I'll cut my wrist."

How did she know about the Companion? It throbbed at him, needing. It had just enough power to run out his canines. He ripped his gaze from her throat and turned his head away. He couldn't take her blood. She pushed herself up to sit beside him on the bed. He could smell the soft scent of lavender soap. She turned his head toward her. Down the neck of her nightdress her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swung free. She smiled so tenderly at him, and bent to kiss him.

His Companion growled. He could feel his canines slide out. She kissed his lips, running her tongue along his canines then baring her neck. d.a.m.n her! And he was weak and in pain and he couldn't think. Her throat was white. Her pulse throbbed until it was all he could hear.

"Go on," she said. "I won't let you take too much."

How would she know what was too much? How did she know any of this?

In the end the decision wasn't his. His Companion took her up on the offer. One minute he was kissing her neck, feeling the warmth of her flesh on his lips, and the next moment he had sunk his canines into her carotid artery and was sucking rhythmically.

The first taste of her pure, young blood in his mouth and he forgot everything but the pull against her flesh and the warm liquid sustenance that tasted of copper, tangy and sweet at once. She lay beside him and held his head to her throat, making soothing sounds that turned to little moans of satisfaction.

It was he who pulled away in spite of her promises. "Enough," he gasped, licking his lips as his canines retracted.

She laid him back down. "That will make a difference soon."

Already he felt himself swooning back into the darkness. How did she know that?

Twenty-Three

Francoise eased Henri into the brocade dressing gown. He was naked, his marvelous body pristine. All trace of Madame Croute's desecration was gone, though he still had some stiffness in shoulder and hip. Frankie might have seen herself heal many times over the centuries, but it had never been wounds like this, and the whole was wondrous to Francoise. Being this close to him she could feel the slow throb of his vibrations. He was still weaker than was his wont. But his body had the same effect on her it always had. She glanced to the bed where they had made such ecstatic love. Had that been only a week ago? It now seemed like another life, one she could never recapture.

Francoise pulled a chair up to the window that looked out onto the night. "Would you like to sit up for a while? Brendal brought us some wine and a nice Camembert from the village."

"I'm to be let out of bed? Hallelujah. My gaoler relents." He sat carefully in the chair as she hovered over him. He looked up at her with a softness in his eyes that startled her. "I don't mean that. I don't deserve the kindness you have shown me."

He ... he never looked at me like that. Frankie sounded a little stunned. When we were here a week ago ... I saw that expression, but I didn't recognize it for what it was ...

"What did I do? I read to you, fed you a couple of times, and watched you sleep."

He blinked slowly, considering her. "You know very well it was more than that."

Francoise felt herself blush remembering how ... sensual giving him her blood had been. "I did what I could." She poured herself wine. She had to redirect this conversation. "Brendel says the Revolutionary Council sent Robespierre to the guillotine without even a trial this morning. They blamed him for the ma.s.s escape from the Conciergerie. Croute fell to the mob."

"The Revolution is cannibalizing itself." He sounded sad.

Ding, dong, the witch is dead. Both of them.

"You fought the Revolution. I wouldn't think you'd be sorry it's disintegrating."

"Man at his worst is always a sorry sight. You might be surprised to know I voted to establish the National a.s.sembly.

Something had to be done about the priesthood and the aristocracy. Just not this. Our country may be torn apart for good."

She was surprised in one way and in another not surprised at all. She wanted to comfort him. On impulse she said, "It will rise from the ashes with the help of a little soldier who becomes emperor."

He looked at her strangely. He almost said something, but thought better of it.

They looked out the windows, a gulf between them that made it hard for Francoise to breathe. Night spread out over the gardens. The rabble was gone again, the detritus from their picnics blown across the gra.s.s and into the hedges by a summer wind.

Beyond the formal gardens the water rushed, silent from this distance, at the Fountain of Apollo. Francoise and Frankie stared out at it, standing beside his chair while Henri sipped his wine.

There's a grotto in a grove somewhere out there. Leonardo's machine is there, if it hasn't already returned to the twenty-first century.

"Francoise," Henri began. She wasn't used to hear him sound anything but masterful or indolent, though that indolence she now knew was a pose. She looked down to see him toying with his gla.s.s. "I hardly know how to say this to you. I have no right."

She made her tone light. "What right don't you have after saving me from the mob and the tender mercies of Robespierre?"

He looked up and searched her face as though his life depended on it. She saw his Adam's apple slide up and down his throat as he swallowed. Dear Lord, but he made her throb. But now that she knew the man beneath that beautiful face, the face was more than beautiful. It was ... dear to her. You should be reminding me of what Madame Vercheroux said about him, she thought to Frankie. He never engages his heart and he will break mine.