Mystic Rider Read Free

scowled. “Pauline is just another
aristocrat who thinks herself above the law. Maybe this will teach her a
lesson.”
    Emile could have
been the source of the gossip that had sent the militia charging into Pauline’s
attic, Chantal realized. “The priest is her brother!” she exclaimed in
frustration at this reminder that even friends could no longer be trusted.
    At her cry, the printer grimaced as if in pain and slid back
beneath the press to escape her protest. She let him go. It wasn’t as if she
could change his prejudice with her tears.
    She’d spent these past two years since her husband’s death
establishing a safe, stable world that shielded her from grief and anger. Even
while Paris rioted around her, and her father stood on street corners shouting
for revolution, she calmly taught her music students, obediently wrote out her
father’s speeches, visited the ill, and had tea with her friends while they
politely discussed how the Assembly would make life better.
    She didn’t doubt the worthiness of her father’s cause. She
loved him and aided him as best she could, fully believing the nobility had no
right to deny others a chance to better their lives. Unfortunately, the only
area of her life she’d ever controlled was her music. Were she to allow her
emotions free rein, she’d no doubt shoot the toes off anyone standing in her
way. Better that she pacify her unruly sentiments by staying behind the scenes,
writing music for the Revolution.
    Pauline’s arrest destroyed her fragile serenity.
    Helplessly, she tapped her nails against the silver bell a
student had given her in lieu of payment for his music lessons. She had taken
to carrying the bell with her in her errand basket, in hopes of finding someone
to replace the missing clapper. But all the decent silversmiths had deserted
Paris for more peaceful, profitable markets. Mostly, she carried the bell
because the charming chime of her nails against the silver helped her believe
that all would be well. The bell had become her comfort when nothing else
succeeded.
    As always, the melodic notes cleared her emotional stress
sufficiently to light a rational path. Bribery might rescue her sister-in-law and her two adorable children from the horror of
prison. Paris ran on bribery — mainly because coins were scarce and the
Assembly’s paper notes were almost worthless. She didn’t think she could find enough
coin to free a priest charged with treason, but innocent women and children…
    While Chantal tried to imagine where she might acquire
enough coins to bribe a guard, she smoothed her palm over the polished curve of
the peculiar bell, and her ring caught on one of the gemstones embedded in the
ornate handle. She would have thought the stones would reduce the bell’s
harmony, but they somehow enhanced it. A very skilled musician must have
crafted it.
    She set her basket on the counter and lifted out the bell by
its broad handle. Frowning, she looked under it, trying to determine why it no
longer possessed a clapper, or how one had been affixed to the interior, but
she was no silversmith.
    Her eyes widened at a wild thought. Would the guards take a
broken silver bell as a bribe? The gems alone must be worth a fortune, and
silver was always valuable. The possibility that someone might melt down the harmonious
object horrified her, but…
    She cringed. She hated to destroy such a treasure, or give
it up at all, but she had to be practical. The silver and gems gave the bell a
monetary value far higher than even her piano, and the bell was easier to
carry. Since it was broken, its musical value was small.
    For Pauline, the sister she’d never had, she would sell her
soul.
    Verifying with the printer that the pamphlet would be ready
when her father came for it, Chantal wrapped the bell in the wool she used to
disguise its gleam. Then, lifting the skirt of the sturdy twill gown she wore
when she worked, she hurried into the bustling streets of Paris. Once upon