The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [19]
The mayor’s house was three stories, a soft yellow brick that had mellowed with age, large and rectangular, and covered with thick ivy. It was set back from the road, its long drive lined with full-branched oak trees, green and abundant in early summer. The mayor was obviously a man of substance. Or had been. There were at least a dozen soldiers patrolling the perimeter or simply standing guard outside the several doors to the house.
He looked up, wondering which of those third-floor rooms held Janine Daudet. He wondered if the general had raped her yet and then he knew that of course he had. Who would have stopped him? He prayed the general hadn’t played his perverted games with her. He wondered if the general had any idea who he was holding. There was no way of knowing because the general was more arrogant, more perverse, than any leader Douglas knew about.
An aide, Grillon by name, Douglas knew, came to greet him in the large entrance hall. He swaggered in his importance and in his fine scarlet uniform with all its braid, yet there was also an air of wariness about him. He was uncertain face to face with this unknown man; he was also a bully when he knew the rules and the players. Douglas gave nothing away; he was enjoying the fellow’s unease. He counted four more soldiers in the entrance hall.
“I am Monsieur Lapalisse. You, of course, know who I am. I will see the general now.” Douglas then looked about the house, quite aware that the lieutenant was studying him closely. He tried for a supercilious expression, but it was difficult, for Douglas had never been good at sneers. He saw a cobweb in the corner and that helped his lip curl.
“Monsieur Lapalisse,” Grillon said at last, “if you will wait but a moment, I will inform the general of your presence and see if he wishes—”
“I am not in the habit of waiting,” Douglas said, looking the young man up and down and finding him lacking. “I suggest that you announce me immediately. Indeed, let us go now, together.”
Grillon fidgeted, then quickly turned on his heel. The general was suffering from a headache. He’d overindulged the previous night and was paying the price today, the fool. He’d not known exactly when this damned bureaucrat was to arrive, but he should have realized it would be exactly when he didn’t wish to see him. The general was also nervous about this man’s visit because no one higher in the government had notified him of it. Well, to hell with him.
General Belesain was standing behind his cluttered desk, eyes cold, body stiff, his forehead furrowed. When Douglas entered beside Grillon, he straightened to his full height, but Douglas wasn’t fooled. His attitude was both wary and defensive. Excellent, Douglas thought as he strolled into the large salon as if he owned it. He gave the general a slight nod, saying in his perfect French, “It is a pleasant day.”
“Yes, it is,” General Belesain said, taken off balance. “Er, I am informed you are from Napoleon’s war committee, although I do not understand. He was here not long ago and expressed his pleasure at how his invasion plans are progressing.”
“A committee is such an amorphous sort of entity,” Douglas said, striving yet again for a supercilious smile and a Gaelic shrug. “I am not a representative of any committee. I am here as Napoleon’s personal, er, investigator.”
The general stiffened even as his jaw slackened and his brain quickened. “Investigator?”
Had Napoleon somehow heard of the death of the two soldiers he’d ordered flogged the previous week? Perhaps he’d heard of the girl’s beating, a girl whose relatives had a bit of clout? Damn the foolish girl. She’d protested, but he’d known she wanted him, the little tease, and thus he’d taken