Free The English Heiress by Roberta Gellis Page B

to go to the Hôtel de Ville and ask permission to set up a shop here? I would like to see the building with my own eyes and talk with some of Marot’s men.”
    Foucalt again examined his guest closely, suspicion reawakened. However, a short reflection pointed out that there would have been nothing to stop Roger from going to see Marot secretly. There was no need for him to say he was going. Besides, a mental review of what had been said convinced Foucalt that no one but himself could be endangered, even if Roger was in league with Marot.
    “I think it would be safe enough for you. The worst danger would be that Marot’s henchmen might seize your stock of guns without informing him. It is not likely that Marot himself would do such a thing. He is not a greedy man, you know, only bitter and warped. That is the worst of what the ancien régime has done to us—turned such men, men with good ideas and what might have been noble purposes—into bloodthirsty monsters.”
    * * * * *
    The high hopes that Leonie and Henry had for escaping had dimmed steadily throughout the week following their discussion. No opportunity was granted them to put either plan into action. Louis did not take Leonie to his bed and far worse, she had not even been able to induce him to enter the cell when he brought food. The first time he simply thrust the soup and bread into her hands through the narrowest opening possible, Leonie thought little of it. Louis had done it many times before. She suspected he had more than one set of irons in the fire.
    She had made no protest and no attempt to draw him into the cell. Although her father was behind the door ready to act if Louis should come in. Leonie was not at all eager to try so dangerous an expedient. She had not told Henry of her own plan. She hoped to be able to convince him that Louis had given her the keys or she had stolen them without confessing openly that she was the thief’s mistress. To avoid raising this issue she had pointed out to her father that he was weak from long inactivity. A few days of exercise could not cure that completely, but it would be of some help.
    Henry agreed and began to try to strengthen himself. Leonie was well satisfied. Her father would feel he was doing something—and actually he was, because he would need strength to escape—while she would get him out in her own way in a day or two. But two days passed then three, and still Louis did not come for her at night. On the fourth day, when he handed in the food, Leonie spoke his name softly.
    “Are you angry for some—” she began.
    But he did not let her finish, merely shook his head sharply and closed and relocked the door. Fear leaped up and tightened Leonie’s throat. Had they been condemned already? Could someone have overheard her father and herself planning? No, they had always spoken in English, but that in itself could betray that they were planning something. Leonie strained to remember whether the cell had ever been dimmer than usual, indicating that someone was listening at the half-window and blocking the light, but she could not recall anything like that. Perhaps she had somehow betrayed her thoughts to Louis? But he never paid enough attention to her to notice even what she wanted him to notice. Leonie bit her lip. It was far more likely, really, that Louis had outsmarted himself and suspected he might be in trouble. If so, his first move would be to show marked severity toward the prisoners.
    Immediate panic subsided as Leonie squatted down beside her father and broke the bread in half. The bread was fresh! She bent to sniff the soup, an act she normally avoided as much as possible. Not only was the aroma appetizing but what was in the bowl was thick, more like stew than soup. For an instant, panic returned. Was this the last meal? In the next instant, Leonie nearly laughed. That Marot should order such a kindness was impossible. But that Louis should think of so considerate a gesture was equally