MV02 Death Wears a Crown Read Online Free Page A

set his crew on me if I did not leave them alone.”
    “Gracious,” said Victoire with more indignation than astonishment. “What did you do to them?”
    “I reminded them that there were penalties for aiding the enemy, and that made them hesitate, as you may well imagine.” He cut his meat carefully, looking around the small dining room of the Garçon Rouge as he did to see if any of the other four occupants were listening to him.
    “And then?” she demanded.
    “And then I said that they might be rewarded if they had useful information. They had nothing to tell me.” He looked at the bread, and cut one more slice for himself. “I will speak to a few more of them, but I suppose I have learned all that I am going to learn already.” He stared toward the window where the sunlight caressed a small garden. “It troubles me that there has been only the one landing.”
    “That you have discovered,” Victoire amended.
    “True enough,” said Vernet. “But if there had been more, if there had been English soldiers about ... Père Antoine must have said something. He is for Napoleon and does not want to see another king in France.” He smiled a little. “For an old man—he must be fifty-five at the least—he has very forward-looking ideas. But he tells me that half the people hereabouts would just as soon have the king again as Napoleon,” he scoffed. “They are ignorant.”
    “Then you must hope that Père Antoine will help them to learn better,” said Victoire at her most soothing.
    “At least they trust him enough to tell him of ... odd events,” said Vernet, a displeased frown in his eyes.
    “And he has heard nothing of strangers in the area?” asked Victoire thoughtfully.
    “So he says,” Vernet answered. “If they are hidden, they have excellent protection. But that would mean they are not able to move about, which seems to defeat their purpose.”
    “And what purpose is that?” Victoire turned her acute blue eyes on her husband and had more of the lettuce cooked with vinegar.
    “To spy on the fleet, or damage it. Or to disrupt the negotiations.” Vernet spoke firmly, but managed to keep his voice down.
    “Are you certain of that?” She did not give him a chance to answer. “Two days ago I might have said the same thing myself but now I am not so sure.”
    “But of course that is their purpose. Think, my love. They landed here, near the border of the Lowlands.” He leaned forward, his handsome features intent.
    For once Victoire was not distracted by his arresting good looks. “And that, too, is odd, when you think of it,” she murmured.
    “How do you mean?” he asked. “What else could it be?”
    “That is the heart of it. We have been expecting the enemy to do what it is convenient for us that they do, and that may be a mistake.” Victoire had another bite of the baked apple that accompanied the lamb. “I find this very puzzling,” she admitted. “Very, very puzzling.”
    “Why?” asked Vernet, knowing his wife was more clever than most. “What puzzles you?”
    “Well,” she said slowly, and paused for another sip of the red wine that was served with the meal, “I cannot help but suppose that we are wrong in our thinking.”
    “How wrong?” Vernet inquired, watching her with fascination. “What is wrong?”
    She did not answer at once, and when she did, she sounded distant. “It bothers me that they chose to land here. The border with Holland is near, true, but ... but so is the road to Paris. What if the English are not here to compromise the negotiations or to destroy the fleet? What if they have other mischief in mind?”
    “What could that be?” Vernet set his utensils aside and gave her his full attention.
    “Perhaps they are after more important targets,” she mused. “Perhaps we are limiting our expectation of danger when we must not. These men could be more desperate and ambitious than we have given them credit for being. Let us suppose that they are