Mystic Rider Read Free Page B

consumption, her
grandparents not long after, in the same typhoid epidemic that had weakened her
mother and led to her death not long after. Their losses, one right after
another, had deadened her soul.
    Papa and Pauline’s family were all she had left. She would
fight to the death for them.
    Girard appeared in the music room as requested. He still
wore an old-fashioned gray wig over his balding head, and the gold braided
frogs and silk coat of the previous era. But his stature and the sword at his
side protected him in a way that Chantal couldn’t command. Her petite size was
a hindrance in a city tense with violence.
    “They caught Pierre in Pauline’s attic,” she said without
preamble. “She’s been harboring him despite the Assembly’s edict.”
    Girard’s stoic features revealed no opinion. “Where was he
taken?”
    “I don’t know.” Chantal paced the parquet floor, working up
her courage. “He should have left Paris for Italy when he had the chance. He
knew we would not let Pauline and the children come to harm. It was reckless
foolishness on both their parts.”
    It had been foolishness to refuse to take the oath, also, but
Pierre had become a priest because he held noble ideas. Chantal was more
pragmatic. Noble ideas seldom fed the poor and often led to death. Dead was
dead, no matter how one got there.
    “You know your father will not approve of whatever you are
thinking,” Girard warned, well versed in Chantal’s ability to wheedle her way
into getting whatever she wanted.
    “He would not approve of Pauline rotting in prison through
no fault of her own either.” She pivoted on the marble tiles, her skirt
dragging on the floor behind her.
    “Supporting a traitor is an act of treason,” Girard intoned
without inflection, giving no indication of his opinion one way or another.
    “He’s her brother !”
Chantal clasped her hands nervously, not certain she dared ask Girard to break
the law. But she could not very well go to the prison on her own. She’d
survived so far not because she was strong, but because she wasn’t stupid.
    The maid hurried in with the silver bell wrapped in clean
felt. How fortunate that the clapper was missing, or Chantal felt certain it
would be ringing in warning of her rash behavior.
    “This is a gift to the guards who keep Pauline.” The
declaration appeared on her tongue without conscious thought. She was not
usually quick with a lie, but once she considered the words, she found they
truly were not a lie. “Find out where she is being held; then present it to
them and ask if I might secure the bond of the prisoners and have them released
in my name.”
    How amazing that she should suddenly utter phrases she’d
heard since childhood, as if she were
the lawyer in the family.
    “Oh, madame, you cannot bring a defrocked priest here,” the
maid whispered in horrified tones. “It is a sacrilege!”
    “That depends on whether you’re speaking of Rome or Paris,”
Girard corrected. “There, he is a hero. Here, he is a traitor to our cause.”
    Chantal waved aside the rhetoric. “He is my brother-in-law,
and his sister and her children are suffering for his beliefs. He is the same
man who blessed this house a year ago, not the evil Inquisitor the radicals
would make of him and others like him.”
    “It is not our place to change the laws,” Girard insisted.
Once his mind was made up, it became an immovable object.
    She might be merely an idle lady with musical talents, but
Chantal had devoted her life to the well-being of her small family. She hummed
beneath her breath to suppress her frustration as she’d learned to do. Hysteria
would never aid her cause. There were times when she wished herself a foot
taller and a hundred pounds heavier so she could pitch obstacles out of her
way.
    She took the bell from the maid and unfolded the cloth to
admire the gems twinkling back at her. She tapped her fingernails against the
silver. Warmth and assurance instantly