A Prisioner in Paris Page 6

Isa smiled at him.

  “Nurses are accepted by everyone as being neutral when it comes to politics and certainly not involved when it comes to crime.”

  “I hope Pierre will make his friends believe that.”

  “I am sure he will if I tell him what to say,” Isa said confidently. “He is much more sensible than he appears and I can tell you too that he has a very sharp brain.”

  She paused for a moment before she went on,

  “He has thrown himself in with us and we should be very grateful for it.”

  Lord Lanwood did show his gratitude by giving Pierre far more money for the carriage there and back than he would possibly need.

  Pierre took it from him gratefully and thrust it into the pocket of his old patched trousers.

  Then they slipped out, going – on his Lordship’s suggestion – down the back stairs where no one was likely to notice them.

  Then he went back to his sitting room wondering if he had done the wise thing or if by some terrible mischance Isa would be injured or taken prisoner.

  The idea horrified him.

  But at the same time it was the only chance to save Charles.

  The only way of getting him away from the ghastly men who had imprisoned him was to do just as Pierre had suggested.

  Nevertheless he found it difficult to sit reading the newspapers that had been brought to him.

  Instead he paced up and down the room continually glancing out of the window as if he thought that he would see them moving down the busy street below.

  *

  It took Isa and Pierre over half-an-hour even in the fast Hackney carriage to reach the outskirts of Montmartre where the driver had been told to go.

  When he heard their destination, there was a sour expression on the driver’s face that told Isa he disliked the neighbourhood and was thinking about whether he would refuse to take them.

  Then, as Pierre deliberately took his money out of his pocket as if he was counting it, the driver knew that he could not refuse such a long drive.

  They set off moving from the better parts of Paris into the narrow dirty streets that would be a shame to any Capital.

  When finally the carriage came to a standstill it was outside a very rough-looking building that might have been stables or maybe a tumbledown warehouse.

  Pierre paid the man for the journey they had already made and told him if he waited they would not be long and would return to where they had started.

  Isa knew from the driver’s face that, although he did not wish to stay in that particular neighbourhood, he would do so because he needed the money.

  Then Pierre led the way round to the back of the building.

  He knocked three times on a dirty unpainted door before it was opened.

  Then a man put his head round and asked,

  “Who’s there?”

  When he saw Pierre, he opened the door a little wider.

  “So you’re back!” he exclaimed. “You’ve been away a long time and we was wonderin’ what were keepin’ you.”

  “I went to fetch a nurse,” Pierre replied.

  “A nurse! What d’you want a nurse for?” the man enquired.

  “If you let the prisoner die, he won’t be no use to us,” Pierre answered.

  The man made no reply, but led the way into what Isa saw had once been a well-built warehouse, but now it was falling down and none of the windows on either side had any glass in them.

  They were merely covered over with dirty rags and in the centre where there had once been storage, there were tables and broken stools.

  Although the light was very bad, Isa could see that rough beds were laid out on the higher side of the building.

  She did not speak, but followed Pierre.

  She carried in her hand the bag she had bought at the chemist, which contained all the things she felt that a nurse would require for a man who was sick and injured.

  Pierre led her to the back of the building.

  Here there was a heavy door that was fastened with padlocks on the inside. The keys, however, were in the lock and it was not difficult to undo them.

  They entered what had obviously been a safe at one time and the only air in it came from the broken glass of its small window.

  Seated in the middle on a dilapidated mattress was Charles.

  He was wearing nothing but a torn and filthy shirt.

  He had one arm covered with some dirty pieces of material, which had certainly not been put on by anyone who understood the treatment of injuries or wounds of any sort.

  Charles looked up as they entered the room.

  As Pierre closed the door behind them, Isa put her finger to her lips just in case Charles should call out in astonishment at seeing her.

  For a moment he was staring at her as if he was asking himself just how it was possible for a woman to be there.

  When she reached him, she said in a low whisper,

  “Be very careful! Everyone here must think I am a nurse.”

  “Isa, is it possible – ?” Charles managed to whisper back.

  Before she could reply, the door was pushed open.

  Two rough men looking very much like Pierre and wearing the same hideous clothes entered and then asked in their own language,

  “Who the hell have you brought wiv you? That be a woman if I’ve ever seen one!”

  “She’s a nurse,” Pierre replied. “When I saw your prisoner, I thought you’d be silly if you let ’im die.”

  “Who said he were dyin’?” one of the men asked.

  “I’m sayin’ it,” Pierre answered. “’E’s lost a lot of blood and ’is arm looks poisonous to me. And if he dies, there’ll be no money for us and no chance of a-reachin’ the place in England where all them treasures lies.”

  He was speaking in what was more or less a hissing whisper, but Isa could understand what he was saying.

  There was silence for a moment.

  Then one of the men suggested,

  “Well, if ’er be a nurse tell ’er to get on wiv it and then get ’er out of ’ere quick. We don’t want no one from outside pryin’ on us.”

  “I knows that,” Pierre replied. “But we don’t want a dead body on our ’ands either.”

  “Get out of ’ere and let ’er get on wiv it,” the man growled.

  He pushed the door to, leaving the others outside.

  Then he turned to where Isa was now whispering to Charles.

  At the same time she was pulling the bedclothes off his shoulder and exclaiming with horror at what she saw.

  His shoulder was red with blood and still bleeding just above the arm.

  “It must be very painful,” she said, “but I will clean it and make it more comfortable for you.”

  “I cannot understand how you came here,” Charles whispered.

  It was then that Pierre joined them and Isa said,

  “I must wash this wound, otherwise the dirt will make it very dangerous for him if it goes into his blood.”

  “I’ll get you some water,” Pierre said, “but you’d better ’urry, them don’t like ’avin’ a woman round ’ere.”

  “I am not surprised,” Isa retorted.

  He hurried through the door, closing it behind him.

  When he had gone, Isa spoke quickly,

  “I have come to Paris with Lord Lanwood to save you. You must tell me how you can escape and we are at Le Grand Hôtel in the Champs Élysées where he always stays.”

  “It will be very difficult for me to escape,” Charles replied. “They guard me night and day.”

  “What we need to know,” Isa said, “is the name of the man who is determined to steal the treasures from The Castle.”

  Charles looked round before he whispered as if he felt someone might be listening,

  “It’s the Comte de Roulé and he would kill me if he thought I had told anyone.”

  “That is just what Lord Lanwood wants to know.”

  Then it was impossible to say any more
because Pierre returned carrying a battered saucepan in which there was some tepid water. He put it down beside Charles.

  After washing his wounds as best she could, Isa put ointment on them and then she bandaged his arm deftly, as she had been bandaging people for years in the village at home.

  “That feels very much more comfortable,” Charles sighed.

  She smiled at him as she said,

  “You must tell Pierre if it is any worse tomorrow and then perhaps I can come again and help you.”

  “I doubt if they’ll let me,” Pierre said, who was listening. “But if ’e stays near death, I thinks they’ll let you in.”

  Isa put on her glasses she had taken off while she was working on Charles’s arm.

  Then, as Charles took her hand and squeezed it to show his gratitude, which he dare not express aloud, she smiled at him.

  Then she said,

  “Try to keep the wound as clean as you can and here are some pills from the chemist which will take away your pain and make you sleep well.”

  “I just don’t know how I can thank you,” Charles murmured. “You are very brave and I admire you very much.”

  Pierre was already opening the door.

  “Come on! Come on!” he urged. “It big mistake to linger.”

  Isa picked up her bag.

  “We will find a way to get you out,” she whispered to Charles.

  Then she hurried to join Pierre.

  She was aware as she walked to the main door that some men, who were extremely unpleasant to look at, were watching her.

  She was sure that they would ask Pierre a million questions when he next returned.

  Fortunately the carriage was still where they had left it and a few minutes later they were on their way.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” Isa said to Pierre. “You were wonderful to take me there. Although I think that his wound is very bad, you may have saved his life.”

  “If ’e dies then there’ll be no goin’ to England for me or them others,” Pierre remarked.

  “No, of course not,” Isa told him. “You therefore have to keep him alive and make sure that he has enough food to eat.”

  “You can trust me. But of, course, I’ll want more money to buy the food if ’e ’as to ’ave somethin’ special.”

  “I am sure his Lordship will be only too glad to give you anything you need,” Isa answered.

  She saw the satisfaction on Pierre’s face.

  As they drove on, she was thinking and wondering desperately how Charles could escape.

  Equally how they could prevent those horrible men she had seen lurking in that huge building from invading The Castle and taking away its most precious possessions.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lord Lanwood was waiting impatiently for Isa in his room when she arrived back at the hotel.

  As soon as they were alone, she told him exactly what had happened and the state Charles was in.

  In fact she was so busy talking about Charles that she was surprised when Lord Lanwood asked,

  “Did you find out from him the name of the man who is directing these ruffians and instructing them how to steal my possessions?”

  Isa gave a little start.

  “Of course I asked him,” she replied, “and I should have told you at once. The name meant nothing at all to me, but perhaps it will to you, my Lord. He whispered it to me, so that Pierre could not hear and it is the Comte de Roulé.”

  Lord Lanwood stiffened.

  Then he said,

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “That is what Charles said in a whisper,” Isa told him, “and, of course, I did not ask him to repeat it.”

  Lord Lanwood did not speak and she asked,

  “Do you know him?”

  “I know all about him. In fact he is a very rich and very important man with a magnificent château of his own on the Loire and a large mansion in Paris.”

  “Then why does he want anything from you?” Isa enquired innocently.

  “Because he is a collector. Collectors are the same all over the world and they are never satisfied.”

  Isa was silent for a moment.

  Then she asked,

  “What can we do about it?”

  “I am thinking,” he answered. “Give me a moment or two to work it out.”

  He then rose from where he was sitting and walked across the room obviously deep in thought.

  Isa was tactful enough to stay silent, knowing that men hated to be interrupted when they were working out a difficult problem in their minds.

  It was, in fact, what seemed to her a long time before Lord Lanwood said,

  “I know what we must do.”

  “What is that, my Lord?”

  “I will make an excuse to meet him. I know quite a number of people who are friends of his and who have talked to me about his large collection. So I will write him a letter saying that I have arrived in Paris and would very much like to make his acquaintance.”

  Isa stared at him.

  “Is that wise?” she asked.

  “There is no reason for him to know that I have met Pierre or that I am in search of Charles.”

  He paused for a moment before he added,

  “He may be suspicious of me at first, but I will be subtle enough, I would hope, to make him believe that I have other reasons for wanting to meet him.”

  Isa thought that this plan could be rather dangerous.

  She felt certain that the Comte would suspect that Lord Lanwood was looking for Charles.

  However, when thirty minutes later, he handed her a letter to read, she changed her mind.

  “My dear Comte,

  I have just arrived in Paris with my niece to find a suitable Finishing School for her.

  But I was reading an article before I left England that spoke of the many additions you have recently made to your collection and one in particular is very interesting to me.

  It is in fact an early painting by Fragonard, which I have never heard of before.

  As I own three of his pictures that he painted later in life, I would be so grateful if you would show me the one you have added to your collection.

  I am sure that you would be interested in hearing where my Fragonards came from and how long they have been in the possession of my family.

  Would it be possible for you to have luncheon or dinner here with me here at Le Grand Hôtel?

  I will not be staying in Paris long, but I am sure we should have a great deal to discuss as our interests are undoubtedly the same.

  I remain

  Yours sincerely

  Lionel Lanwood.”

  He had written his full name at the top of the page. Isa read the letter through very carefully a second time.

  Then she said,

  “It sounds very practical to me, my Lord, but surely he will realise that by this time you would know that your nephew Charles was missing and perhaps suspect that you might have some knowledge about it.”

  “I think that very unlikely,” Lord Lanwood replied. “The Comte will be well aware that Englishmen are very direct and seldom play a quiet game when it comes to an insult to their family.”

  Isa knew this to be true.

  “I expect that he is a clever man,” Lord Lanwood continued. “He knows that Charles is rarely in touch with his English relations, but travels round the world to strange places he finds more amusing.”

  Isa sighed.

  She sensed that his Lordship was going into danger, but she was too sensible to say so.

  Instead she rang the bell.

  When it was answered, Lord Lanwood, having put his letter into an envelope and addressed it, asked for it to be taken as quickly as possible to the Rue de la Vendôme where the Comte lived when he was in Paris.

  It was not very far away and he knew that they could expect an answer very shortly.

  “In the meantime we will have to wait,” he said aloud. “Tell me, Isa, what would you like to do?”


  “I think I would like more than anything else to go to the Louvre, my Lord.”

  Lord Lanwood smiled.

  “I think that would be good for both of us. At the same time I would like to find out a little more about this weird Comte. I am just wondering if there are any books or catalogues of his collection.”

  Isa’s eyes lit up.

  “That is certainly an idea,” she replied. “I am sure if there was one that we would find it in the Rue de la Paix.”

  “Of course we would,” he agreed. “As it is not far, let’s go there as soon as you are ready to do so.”

  He paused before he added,

  “What is more, I will take you to luncheon at one of the very best restaurants in Paris which is just off the Place Maubert.”

  “I would love to,” Isa cried. “Actually, as breakfast was rather sparse, I am feeling hungry.”

  “Then come along,” Lord Lanwood said, “but don’t look too smart or too old!”

  Isa laughed.

  “I can hardly look smart in the clothes that I wore at school and so I must continue to be the rather plain young woman I feel sure you have never taken out to luncheon before!”

  “It will be a new experience and that is something that always pleases me!”

  Lord Lanwood was thinking as he spoke that she was most unlike the Countess Yvette or any other woman he had associated with in the past.

  Despite her clothes she was certainly intelligent and he was sure to find her more interesting than any woman who had accompanied him before for a lunch à deux.

  He had no idea until they sat down at the table that she knew so much about pictures, a subject he was always completely absorbed in.

  Or that, apart from The Castle, of which she knew every inch, she told him, she had read a great deal about the artists who were acclaimed all over the world.

  She also had a wide knowledge of French furniture and china.

  “I am sure,” Isa said, after they had discussed it for some time, “that those are the things that the Comte will have collected. Now he will want to extend his collection to the fine paintings that cover your walls as well as your amazing snuff boxes to which you recently added three from Russia.”

  “I was very lucky to obtain those,” Lord Lanwood said. “It was only because I had presented the Czar with such a magnificent present that he could not refuse to let me have the three I particularly wanted from those that are on display at the Winter Palace.”