A Prisioner in Paris Read online

  “I am hoping that your luck will extend to freeing Charles,” Isa replied. “He is in the most dismal, ghastly place I have ever seen and his wound definitely needs treating.”

  “Well, you have established that at any rate,” Lord Lanwood remarked. “They would be very foolish to let him die if they need him to show them, when they reach England, how to enter The Castle and how to take away all the treasures I really cherish.”

  Isa gave a little cry.

  “You must not allow them to do so. You must think of a way to stop them, my Lord. So please, please think of nothing else but concentrating on saving what would be a tremendous loss, not only to you but to the whole family.”

  “I am aware of that,” Lord Lanwood said quietly. “I promise you that I will not lose anything at all if I can possibly help it.”

  “Equally,” Isa added, “we have to save Charles, although I still cannot think how.”

  When they arrived back at the hotel, it was to find, not entirely to Lord Lanwood’s surprise, that there was a letter from the Comte.

  He opened the envelope and read it quickly.

  Then he said to Isa, who was waiting beside him,

  “He has asked us to dinner tomorrow night at his Paris residence. That is exactly what I wanted and so you will have to look very attractive as he says that he will ask some young men to amuse you while he and I talk of our possessions.”

  Isa gave a little cry.

  Then she said,

  “We have won the first step and now we go into battle!”

  “We will,” Lord Lanwood agreed. “But remember, my dear Isa, that every word you say may be dangerous and every word you hear may be of significance.”

  Isa smiled at him.

  “I will promise to do everything I can, but, because I did not think that this would happen when I was packing, I did not bring a proper evening dress with me.”

  Lord Lanwood smiled,

  “In which case we must buy one!”

  When they then left the hotel, instead of going to the Louvre, they went to the shop belonging to Frederick Worth.

  There was no need for Isa to be told that he was the most famous couturier in Paris at that time.

  Although he was an Englishman, he had, with his new ideas and beautiful clothes, taken France by storm.

  Isa had heard about him and had read about him but, of course, had never met him.

  It was a thrill to go into his very elaborate shop and be taken into the room where he personally received the Empress Eugenie and all his varied customers interested in his unique designs.

  Lord Lanwood had often met him before when he had accompanied some very lovely ladies both English and French to choose a gown which they thought would please him.

  And they had certainly looked entrancing in those he had chosen.

  As he had proved an exceedingly good customer, it was not surprising that Frederick Worth hurried across the room holding out his hand to greet him.

  “This is a great surprise, my Lord,” he intoned. “I had no idea that you were in Paris.”

  “I only arrived here this morning,” Lord Lanwood replied, “and I expect to return to England immediately I had found a Finishing School for my niece. But you will be surprised to hear I have already received an invitation for us both for dinner tomorrow night and, like many ladies before her, my niece has nothing to wear!”

  Frederick Worth laughed.

  “That is the usual excuse for coming to me and, of course, I will do everything I possibly can for anyone in your family.”

  He then produced an array of delightful dresses designed for the very young.

  They seemed to Isa even more beautiful than the flowers that Frederick Worth ornamented so many of his gowns with.

  After seeing a great number paraded in front of them, many of which were far too old and sophisticated for Isa, who was supposedly pretending to be only seventeen, Lord Lanwood finally chose a gown of pure white muslin trimmed with bunches of forget-me-nots that matched Isa’s eyes.

  It was a young girl’s gown, but at the same time it was too lovely to be anything but a work of art.

  “I will have to alter the bodice,” Frederick Worth said, “and I hope before you return to England that you will buy her a number of other dresses. I have some of the sort you have admired in the past, but I have designed a new range for the future.”

  “You have always been well ahead of the future by being better than any other couturier we have ever heard of,” Lord Lanwood replied.

  Frederick Worth laughed.

  “I have much enjoyed your flattery, my Lord, and I promise you that your niece will now be the belle of the ball!”

  “Of course she will be,” Lord Lanwood agreed.

  He was concerned that Frederick Worth might ask him where they were dining.

  So, looking at his watch, he said,

  “I am afraid we must leave you. I have another appointment I must not be late for.”

  “Then I can only thank you for coming, my Lord, and it is such a great pleasure to see you again,” Frederick Worth replied graciously.

  They hurried out to where the carriage was waiting for them and drove back to the hotel.

  “I think that it would be a mistake,” Lord Lanwood said, “for people to see us casually. I don’t want too much said about me being in Paris as I know quite a few people here.”

  “I am sure you are right,” Isa agreed. “If only we could rescue Charles in some brilliant way we could go back home immediately.”

  “We will do,” Lord Lanwood asserted. “But first we have to get to Charles.”

  “I know and I have suggested to Pierre that I should go to bandage him again this evening. He thought it would be wrong for me to go early because they believe that I am working in a hospital.”

  “Well, let’s hope that they go on believing it,” Lord Lanwood said almost to himself as they drove on.

  Pierre did not arrive at the hotel until nearly seven o’clock.

  Isa thought it would be wise to tell him that they were going out to dinner tomorrow night, but, of course, he must never know who they were associating with.

  She therefore hurriedly dressed in the clothes she wore yesterday and pinned up her hair under her plain hat and then put on her dark glasses.

  “I told ’em,” Pierre said as they were driving to Montmartre, “you warned that unless ’is wounds were seen to ’e’d not be travellin’ for a long time. I thinks they be plannin’ to go to England in a week or so.”

  Isa drew in her breath.

  “Then you must tell them that it is too dangerous for Charles to travel until he is very much better than he is now and that actually is more or less the truth.”

  She did not mention the meeting with the Comte tomorrow night.

  She realised that Pierre would be terrified of being accused of talking too much if they found out that she was aware of the Comte’s identity.

  When they arrived at the place where Charles was imprisoned, it looked more sinister and more unpleasant than it had, Isa thought, when she had first seen it.

  There seemed to be more men there and they stared at her as she walked through them.

  But she told herself that, as a nurse, she should be concerned not with them but with her patient and she must not, under any circumstances, look curiously back at them.

  When they reached Charles, she thought, although she did not say so, that his injury was a trifle better than it had been the day before.

  It was certainly a very deep wound and she thought that they must have hit him really hard, perhaps with an axe.

  Or maybe it was the result of a shot from quite a large gun.

  It was, however, a mistake to ask any questions.

  Charles smiled at her and said,

  “I am so glad you have come, Isa. My arm is not quite as painful as it was yesterday, but I still cannot move it.”

  “I am afraid that it will be bad for some time,”
Isa replied.

  She asked Pierre, as she had yesterday, for water and if possible to warm it a little.

  As soon as he had hurried away, she said in a low whisper that it would be impossible for anyone not close to her to hear,

  “We are going to meet the man you mentioned tomorrow night.”

  “Is that wise?” Charles asked.

  “His Lordship wrote to him to say that he wishes to discuss a certain painting with him and to our surprise he answered by return.”

  “Be very careful,” Charles warned her. “These men are seriously dangerous. They would not hesitate to destroy you if they thought that you were spying on them.”

  “You must tell me exactly how you are feeling,” Isa answered. “We must talk of nothing but your wound.”

  They did and, as Pierre came back with some warm water in the same saucepan as before, Isa thanked him.

  She was not surprised when he stayed by them and there was no possible chance of any further conversation.

  “I will come tomorrow if I can,” she told him. “But rest as much as possible and try to sleep.”

  “I will do exactly what you tell me to do, nurse,” Charles murmured. “I want to get well and I need some fresh air. It’s very stuffy and unpleasant in here.”

  “Of course it is,” Isa agreed.

  Then she added in case anyone might be listening,

  “I wish I could put you into a hospital, but they are so overcrowded at the moment. There are not enough beds for all the people we have.”

  “Then, if I have to sleep in discomfort,” Charles answered, “I might as well stay where I am.”

  Their eyes met.

  They told each other without words that they were doing their best to act the part that was so essential to both of them.

  Then Pierre escorted Isa quickly back to the door and she noticed as she went that the men turned their faces away from her as if they did not want her to recognise them again.

  She was thinking that they were the most sinister looking men she had ever seen.

  There was no reason for Pierre to drive back with her.

  She told him she would be ready the following evening but a little earlier, if he would take her to Charles again.

  “Why earlier?” Pierre questioned.

  “Because,” she replied, “His Lordship wants to take me out to a theatre or maybe even the Folies-Bergère. I would love either of those places, but most of all I want to go to the Opéra.”

  Pierre did not answer.

  She was quite certain that he felt she was telling him the truth and there was no question of them behaving in any way except as ordinary visitors to Paris.

  *

  When she reached the hotel, she told his Lordship about Charles.

  He listened attentively before he asked,

  “Do you think he is well enough to travel if we can take him away from here?”

  “Of course he is,” Isa answered, “if we gave him every comfort and I am there to see to his wound, he would be alright. But it would be dangerous if he had to run or climb, as that would be almost impossible for him at the moment.”

  Lord Lanwood gave a deep sigh.

  “We can only hope that there will be some way to spirit him away from these ghastly people. But I think it’s very brave of you to go out amongst them and do what you are doing for Charles.”

  “I must admit that they frighten me by the way they look,” Isa replied in a low voice. “I am quite certain that they would have no compunction in killing all three of us if it suited them.”

  Lord Lanwood laid his hand on hers.

  “I think you are the bravest woman I have ever met in my whole life,” he said. “I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am that you are doing all this for me and for Charles.”

  He paused before he added,

  “I want to thank you, but I cannot seem to find the right words.

  “Keep them, my Lord,” Isa replied, “until we have been successful in rescuing him from his prison and we are all three safely on our way home.”

  “That is what we both desperately wish for,” Lord Lanwood said. “But now you had better hurry and dress so that we are not late for the Comte. Are you quite certain that Pierre has no idea that it is where we are going?”

  “Why should he have?” Isa asked. “You have not yet ordered a carriage or told the coachman where to take us.”

  “No, of course not! It’s just that I am so frightened of doing the wrong thing and losing our chance of saving Charles that I am trying to think out every detail of what we must do before we do it.”

  Isa laughed.

  “Now I am going to think only of the pretty dress I am going to wear tonight so that I don’t let you down.”

  “It would be just impossible for you to do so,” Lord Lanwood replied gallantly.

  She smiled at him and then went out of the sitting room towards her bedroom.

  He thought, when she had left him. that she was the most extraordinary woman he had ever met and certainly the bravest.

  He could not imagine anyone he had known in the past, even the Countess, coping with what Isa was coping with in what was an extremely intimidating situation for anyone, let alone a very young girl.

  Of course she was not as young as she appeared, as she was over twenty, but at the same time she would have had no experience of this sort of life before.

  It was certainly very strange and wholly different from the quiet life she obviously lived in the Vicarage.

  ‘Now what do I have to try and do tonight?’ Lord Lanwood asked himself, knowing that he must not waste time at the moment in thinking about Isa.

  *

  They set off just after eight o’clock, having been asked to dinner for eight-thirty.

  They did not have far to go.

  When they duly arrived at a fine-looking mansion in its own walled garden, a first glance at the inside told Lord Lanwood and Isa what a marvellous collection of art the Comte already had.

  While she had been out attending to Charles, Lord Lanwood had managed to buy a book in which a great number of the Comte’s paintings were illustrated, but there were not the details of the collection that he had hoped to find before they arrived.

  It was, however, obvious from walking along the passage to the room where they were to be received, that the walls were covered with some of the finest paintings that Lord Lanwood had seen anywhere.

  He was now, however, increasingly curious to see what the Comte looked like.

  He was older than Lord Lanwood had expected, perhaps seventy, when he thought that he would be rather younger.

  He had very French features, but his eyes were hard and were not in tune with his voice.

  He greeted Lord Lanwood effusively and gave but a passing glance towards Isa.

  She was looking, Isa thought to herself, when she was dressed, as if she herself was a picture.

  The dress suited her and was even lovelier on her slim body that it had been when worn by a mannequin.

  Isa had done her hair in the more familiar way of curls on top of her head and touching her cheeks.

  She seemed, Lord Lanwood mused, to impersonate spring.

  Among the other guests of the Comte there were two young men who were obviously delighted with Isa the moment they set eyes on her.

  There was an older woman who was ready to flirt with Lord Lanwood with the strange expertise that only a Parisienne is famous for and he played the part which she expected of him.

  It was not until after dinner was finished and, in the French fashion, the ladies did not leave the dining room as they do in England, that the Comte, leaning back on his fourteenth century chair, asked Lord Lanwood,

  “Now tell me, my Lord, about your collection. I have been told a great deal about it, but I would like to hear more from you.”

  Lord Lanwood laughed,

  “Just as I hope to hear more of your magnificent paintings, monsieur, and, if I am lucky, to
see them.”

  “Of course you can see them,” the Comte replied. “I am sure, like me, you feel that you never own enough and must continually keep adding to what, by the grace of God, you already have.”

  “Naturally I would feel like that, monsieur,” Lord Lanwood said. “Is there really room for what you already own in this charming house? I am sure that some of your collection must be elsewhere.”

  “Yes, it is at my château,” the Comte replied. “It is large enough to hold quite a lot more than is there already.”

  There was a look in his eyes as he spoke that told Lord Lanwood without words that he knew where there were additions to his collection that he yearned for and was determined to acquire.

  There was in fact an air about him that he would do anything in his desire to obtain all that he required from whatever source.

  The paintings his Lordship had at The Castle by Fragonard would undoubtedly be the first that the Comte would wish to steal, because he had already seen a picture by him in the reception room.

  Lord Lanwood remembered his father saying once,

  “I would consider myself one of the luckiest men in Europe now I own three Fragonards to hang in The Castle. The French will grind their teeth when they know I possess them and I am delighted for them to do so. They have in their possession several English artists who should never have left our shores!”

  It was then, as Lord Lanwood was thinking just how much he would hate to lose his Fragonards, that an idea came to him.

  They left the dining room and then the younger members of the party moved into the music room where one of them was sitting at the piano playing a popular tune.

  Having been sung at the Folies Bergère, it had been a success with the young Parisiennes from the boy who whistled it down the alleyways to the smart visitors in the Place Vendôme.

  As if she could not resist it, the older woman who was flirting with Lord Lanwood joined the younger group.

  As the Comte sat down on the sofa, Lord Lanwood joined him.

  “I am thrilled and delighted, at the same time very envious of your paintings, monsieur,” Lord Lanwood said. “The only thing that worries me in England is that it is difficult to make sure that they are not stolen. I suppose you have heard that there are collectors in Italy, who are determined to take back every picture by an Italian artist owned by collectors in other countries.”