Belle - Lesley Pearse [184]
Marcel was short and rotund, almost bursting out of his shirt. His round, shiny face glistened with sweat, and his receding black hair and drooping moustache were oily.
‘She told me she had a good friend from Marseille, and knowing you were from there I hoped you might know him. His name is Etienne Carrera.’
Marcel’s eyes widened. ‘I know of him,’ he said in a tone that suggested Etienne was to be treated with caution. ‘But your young guest, how would she know such a man? He has a bad reputation.’
Gabrielle explained as briefly as possible about Belle’s abduction and how Etienne escorted her to America two years ago. ‘She told me she trusted him, so that would mean he was good to her. I don’t care what kind of man he is, I just hope he may be able to help me find her.’
‘I heard from my family in Marseille that he lost his wife and family in a fire,’ Marcel said thoughtfully. ‘It was the talk of the town some eighteen months ago, for most people think it was no accident and someone wished to punish him.’
‘I heard that too. But do you know where he is now?’
‘I could telephone my younger brother and ask him. They were friends as boys. I know Pierre went to the funeral of his wife and sons.’
Gabrielle put her hand on Marcel’s arm. ‘I would consider that a great kindness,’ she said with sincerity. ‘If he does know, will you ask him to tell Etienne that I believe Belle is in danger and that she gave me his name as a friend and someone she could trust?’
Marcel patted Gabrielle’s shoulder in understanding. ‘I will come along to see you just as soon as I have spoken to Pierre. I can see you are very worried about this girl. You liked her?’
‘Very much,’ Gabrielle admitted, suddenly aware that apart from Henri, Belle was the first person since Samuel died that she had cared about. ‘She has had very hard times. I wish to see her reunited with her family. I think this man Etienne would wish that for her too.’
Marcel nodded. ‘Leave it with me.’
Mrs Dumas opened her front door and blanched to see a telegraph boy standing there holding out a telegram. ‘It’s for Mr Bayliss,’ the boy said.
Mrs Dumas felt relieved it wasn’t for her. ‘He’s not home, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘But he will be very shortly.’
She took the telegram and closed the front door, looking at the envelope and wondering what it contained. Was one of his parents sick or even dying? She fervently hoped not for she had grown very fond of Noah and he was doing so well now he’d been taken on to the staff of The Times.
Just half an hour later Mrs Dumas heard a key in the door, and rushed out into the hall to check if it was Noah. It was. He looked hot and bothered for it was a warm day and he must have walked home from Fleet Street.
‘I’m afraid there’s a telegram for you,’ she said. ‘I do hope it’s not bad news. But I’ve got the kettle on, dear.’
Noah looked anxious, but smiled after he’d read it. ‘I don’t think it is bad news. Someone in Paris has news of Belle.’
Back in the days when he used to rush home hoping for a letter from Lisette, he had given his landlady a censored outline of Belle’s story, omitting that she was brought up in a brothel and had been sold into prostitution. But that hoped-for letter never came, and once he’d been taken on as a reporter for The Times and worked longer hours, gradually his visits to Mog, Garth and Jimmy had become less frequent too.
Last time he went to the Ram’s Head Garth had told him he and Mog were planning to get married soon. They wanted to find another public house somewhere in the country, and as Jimmy was virtually running the Ram’s Head now, he could take it over if he wanted to.
Jimmy had grown into a strong, steady young man, honest and forthright, and he rarely mentioned Belle any more. Yet Noah knew he still thought about her, for though he had walked out with two or three young women, it was clear his heart still belonged to Belle.
Mog hadn’t entirely given up hope of finding her, but she did her best to hide the core of sadness within her. She had a good life with Garth and