The Dangerous Harlot: Behind The Shadow, #4

By Antoinette George

Compelling romance and swashbuckling thrills.

Behind The Shadow: The dramatic and gripping story of one man with two lives and the woman he craves, but cannot have…

He was the handsome aristocrat and charismatic adventurer who created a dynasty and she was the feisty, unconventional woman he loved. He was English and she was French, two strong-willed people determined never to give in to each other, and a devious, diabolical enemy determined to exact revenge on the smuggler who had constantly evaded him and thwarted his nefarious plans,

Set at the end of the 18th century when France was on the cusp of a bloodthirsty Revolution, this is an exciting and unputdownable tale of daring escapes, broken promises, distrust and misunderstandings, all threaded through by a passionate and turbulent love affair, a scorching romance that wouldn't be denied.

Part 4: The Dangerous Harlot

A cripple, his pregnant wife and a middle-aged valet. That is Marie-Catherine's army, so everything is down to her. With every minute counting, only she can save The Shadow, and his uncle's family who were bait in the trap set for him. But she wants revenge as well, passionately. His enemies are also her own, they owe her and she's going to kill them, once and for all. She made a vow in the grim fortress prison in Rouen and the time has come to fulfil it, back in the very same place. But she isn't 'just a mere woman'… and she is determined.

Still the headstrong, wilful and eccentric individual she's always been, nothing is going to stop Marie-Catherine, even though her plan is risky in the extreme and the odds heavily stacked against her.  And when she's done that, because failure isn't an option she can bear to contemplate, she's going to return to England and try to save her wreck of a marriage. But with her very life at stake, and that of The Shadow already doomed, is all this a step too far, even for her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brangwyn Press
• Release date: Dec 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781914160035

Book preview

Chapter One

Normandy: Spring 1791

They were all still fraught with nerves, apprehension and no little fear of who and what they were dealing with, but at the same time, once they’d set off and the game was afoot, each of them was calm, sober and focussed. All four were now determined to do what they could to save The Shadow… Francis Granville, Duke of Firle, along with his uncle, aunt and cousin.

The Shadow… the man to whom each of them personally owed so much.

For Edouard de Mornay, the studious, scarred cripple, it was like the start of a big, very high stakes card game. The biggest he’d ever been involved in, one between clever and ruthless players, definitely no amateurs, where he stood to win a packet which he needed to support his private lifestyle, but also risked losing far more than he could afford or probably even had. If he lost and couldn’t pay up, at best he’d be run out of Paris with his reputation in shreds. At worst, depending on who he owed money to, his very life would be on the line.

For Carlotta de Mornay, ex-dancer and one time prostitute, it was as she’d felt at the start of her career as a courtesan; attending a large party populated by the Parisian demi-monde, desperate to sparkle and stand out to find a wealthy lover or protector, or she’d be unable to pay her rent and would be back on the dangerous streets again, starving and homeless and turning tricks for a handful of coins from the dirtiest and worst of men. An extremely precarious and perilous existence.

For Benjamin Flowers, the camp valet and sometime tailor and high-class dress designer, it was the nerve-shredding minutes before his British Navy frigate engaged with the enemy. The guns were rolled out, virtually every crew member was armed and on alert as they waited for the order to open fire, and the ship’s doctor was preparing his instruments and bandages in anticipation of the grisly work ahead of him. Benjy would be standing by, bracing himself and ready to assist, and hoping he wouldn’t need to get involved in the fighting. Everyone was watching as they drew closer and closer to their adversary, with Benjy wondering if this was going to be the time when he’d finally end up at the bottom of the sea.

All Marie-Catherine Granville, Duchess of Firle, could think about was her memory of that terrible chamber she’d come across next to Edgar Bernheim’s private quarters: the gruesome implements and the cold brazier, now no doubt red hot and waiting, and the thought of the beautiful body of the man she loved so desperately, the torso she’d sighed over, caressed, kissed and wanted again so much, slowly and agonisingly being scorched to a cinder by Pierre Dupont.

Each one was primed and ready to give their all in a situation they’d never dreamed of experiencing.

Cat had collected two flagons of strong and heady wine on the way out from their hostelry. In the privacy of the alley behind the nearby tavern, she uncorked the vial of poison and poured it into one. Holding tight to the other, she took a long swig and patted her neck with a few drops, so she smelled like the drunken harlot she was going to pretend to be. Between that and the vile scent, she decided she’d send most men running, never mind enticing them.

Fortunately, the drizzling rain had finally cleared but the ruined Fortress walls loomed out of the damp darkness, still as grim and forbidding as ever; Carlotta settled herself comfortably on a pile of blankets in the back of the covered wagon, with more draped around her to keep her warm and with some knitting to keep her occupied. Slightly hysterically, Cat told her she should knit Eddie some big bootees to keep his feet warm and not to forget the blue ribbons as he was definitely a boy, before she made her way over towards the grimy, soot-blackened walls of the Fortress. Scruffily dressed as would-be vagrants, Eddie and Benjy looked a picture but kept to the shadows out of sight and at a distance from her as they sat down to lean against the walls. To any passers-by – not that there appeared to be any at that time of the evening – they seemed just a couple of grubby drunks, sleeping off their excesses. Yet again, Eddie’s scar gave the impression he was someone to be avoided without any extra effort.

Cat leaned against the walls and prayed one of the men would come out soon to go off duty or to the tavern for refreshments. Maybe one of Jean’s friends would decide to pay him a visit. Perhaps one would have to answer a call of nature; it certainly stunk enough around where she was loitering. So she waited; and waited. The longer it went on, the more strung out and nervous she became and the nightmarish visions of what was going on inside returned to torment her mind more than ever.

As she stood, she tried to combat those visions with memories of the happy times she’d shared with Francis...or Alex. She remembered dancing with him in the gypsy camp and how he’d kissed, caressed and loved her on the grassy bank afterwards, something which had stunned her as she’d no idea the precursor to the actual act of fornication could be quite so pleasurable. She remembered the innocent banter they’d shared when she’d rescued Fluffy from the gypsy youths. Then she remembered the amusing letters and gifts he’d sent her when he’d courted her: feathers, dog collars, hair clasps, necklaces and that entertaining magician. She remembered the evening she’d spent with him at Vauxhall and the fireworks... not only the ones caused by gunpowder, but the passion that ignited between them like a conflagration every time they kissed; something else which bewildered her, or was it because they hadn’t kissed properly that often, but when they did, it was always memorable? Which led her to remember that stunning farewell kiss he’d given her at the Palace. And finally, she remembered him making love to her, at long last; completely, stunningly, unforgettably... was it only a few nights previously?

Cat had no idea the act of love could be like that; even her little dabble with him as Alex hadn’t prepared her and she just wanted to forget the disaster on her wedding night. It had been so completely earth-shattering, or was it just him? Him and the effect he had on her? No other man had even come close; with even an ordinary kiss he had her in knots, never mind what he’d done in St James’s Palace. She certainly couldn’t imagine her parents doing anything remotely like THAT in bed, even when they were her age, nor her Aunt Harriet with Lord Aubrey, nor, heaven forbid, Lady Emily with her equally tubby husband, nor the self-possessed, aristocratic Dowager… and for the first time, as she stood in the fetid alleyway and stared over at where he was sitting with Benjy, she wondered what went on between her brother and the former prostitute. She rather suspected her Eddie, quiet and unassuming cripple though he was, had to have hidden depths to keep a woman of Carlotta’s undoubted expertise in thrall, given her former occupation; she was fascinated and impressed as she thought about it, now she understood so much more. What a dark horse her dear brother obviously was!

Cat’s mind wandered in odd amusing directions as she stood and waited, even wondering about the effete and rather camp Benjy’s love life, if he even had one, but the terrible visions kept intruding and sending tremors down her spine and making her stomach churn. Ruthlessly, however, she buried her fears deep inside, got a grip of herself and focussed her mind on getting Francis out. She wanted him to make love to her again like that night in the tavern, as soon as she was with him again, then every night possible for the rest of her life and she wanted to learn about love in all its forms. A deep and private conversation with Carlotta was on her agenda at some point as a prelude to what she wanted Francis to show her. Even as she thought about him and what he’d done to her she felt her nipples swell and harden and something squirm deep down in her intimate parts, marvelling yet again at the effect he had on her.

As the daydreams of making love with Francis wafted around in her mind, she heard the nearby door rattle. Rapidly, like an actress taking her cue, she moved away from the wall, tore off the fichu, tucked it into her belt and started to totter and weave, haphazardly, as if she was on her drunken way to the murky tavern Jean had visited that afternoon.

She didn’t recognise the lout who came out, but he looked much like the others in the tavern – big, brutish, dirty, smelly and unkempt. It took him a mere minute to spot her as she staggered along, swigging from the flagon of wine as she went, the action raising one of her unfettered breasts even further out of her bodice, if that were possible.

Thick clouds were scudding across the night sky, but in a break, moonlight shone down and her almost naked upper body gleamed in the pearlescent light. The thug walked quickly after her, grasping her arm roughly to pull her around.

Wot? Oi, wot yer doin’? she cried out drunkenly as she weaved on the spot and swore at him. For once her knowledge of coarse gutter French paying dividends. Gerofff me, she muttered as she tried half-heartedly to shake him off.

Weeeell now, wot ‘ave we ‘ere? Goin’ somewheres are we? the uncouth man leered down at her virtually bare, voluptuous breasts.

Well, I woz lookin’ fer a way in ter this ‘orrid place; sum friends o’ Jean sent me ‘ere ter keep ‘im cump’ny ternight. Cat waggled the flagon of wine at him and shimmied her shoulders, making her breasts jiggle suggestively. Theys said I’d git lost goin’ in th’ front an’ ter use sum back door, but I can’ts find me way in; don’ wanna goes anyways, creepy ‘round ‘eres an’ I fort this shit’ole woz desertid; still, there yer go, I c’n fuck anywheres, and she made to meander off back in the direction of the tavern behind the ruins.

Against the wall a gaping Eddie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry in shock at her gutter accent and language, never mind what she looked like as he watched her thrusting, rouged breasts. For some odd reason he suddenly thought of the Dowager and he almost burst out laughing as he imagined her face if she could see her granddaughter-in-law now. He idly wondered what Francis would say, making a bet with himself, imagining his expression, disbelief and temper, but that suddenly focussed his mind; his fraught and angst-ridden thoughts returned in a deluge.

The lout pulled Cat closer and ran a dirty, calloused hand over one breast, roughly pinching an exposed nipple as he did so. She screeched. ’Ere, geroff, yous ain’t paid me nuffink, so fuck offff.

The lout merely carried on pawing her, completely fascinated by the bounty confronting him. Jean’s inside, on dooty wiv me, he licked his lips lasciviously, exposing broken and yellowed teeth. Yous an’ yer tits can cum back in wiv me, we knows ‘ow ter entertain a laydee. If’n yous a good girl, there maight be anuvver sou or two in it fer yer since I earned meself a few last naight. He laughed crudely and pulled her up against his lower body, thrusting himself against her belly.

Cat thought she’d vomit as he leaned down to try and kiss her, the odour of garlic and stale beer heavy on his fetid breath; long, lank, greasy hair falling around his face and body odour rising from his long unwashed torso and clothes. Instead, she laughed throatily back at him and winked. Weeeell, yer seem a nice BIG spessimin, an’ I laikes big men, I duz. Can’t be doin’ wiv little pokers, too much work ter git me anywheres an’ I laikes ter feel sumfin’ when I’s bein’ poked. Wot’s yer name, then? She grasped the front of his dirty pantaloons, squeezed hard and licked her lips. I’s Rosie, laike me tits. I mights consider yer offer aftah all; ’ow many o’ yers are there in there anyways? A girl needs ter know ‘ow many customers she might git if’n she’s goin’ ter spread ‘er legs good ‘n proper an’ open ‘er mowf?

Eddie gawped in astonishment; so much for his innocent sister. Benjy just watched, similarly speechless, wondering what his master would make of the performance they were witnessing. He’d wondered if she had it in her; now he knew. He decided there and then to make her another outfit like that for her to tease the Duke, imagining for a moment that man’s expression and thought he’d make it even more suggestive and lewd. Benjy’s mischievous and creative mind ran down a different avenue for a few moments and he almost tittered out loud, he was so entertained at the thought of what his master would do when he saw it, depending on where, as a vision of the Duchess, on her way to her husband’s study, parading down the hallway at Firle House filled his head, with Archibald and Mr Browning, the butler, gaping at her and the Duke having an apocalyptic fit. But the humour didn’t last long as Benjy couldn’t stop worrying if his master would ever get to see any more of his creations again.

I’s Albert, the lout groaned as Cat massaged his crotch and smiled suggestively.

’Ere, fancy a swig? Cat held out the second flagon as she herself took a swig from the one she’d already been drinking from, the action again causing her breasts to rise and fall alluringly, the rouged nipples gleaming in the moonlight. Eddie was both riveted and embarrassed at her actions and language, not knowing where to look at her half naked body.

Albert took the second flagon from her as he answered her question. Well, there’s me ‘n Jean, an’ Bertrand an’ Louis, but them two’s already gotta coupla bitches ter occupy theyselves up there, so it’ll be jes’ us, I s’pose. ‘Ow d’yer fancy ‘avin us tergether? He looked Cat up and down lasciviously. You’d be a saight more temptin’ tied nekkid ter the bedposts than those scraggly, weepin, ‘oity toity wimmin we already gots. He leered down at her and squeezed a breast, then raised the wine to his lips and he swigged greedily. Jean an’ me’s cud take turns, or toss fer it; one o’ us atween yer pins an’ one in yer m...

He got no further as the poison leached into his system. Cat was revolted by his obscene suggestions and just managed to grab back the poisoned flagon before watching in cold awe as he choked and put a hand to his throat. His eyes bulged, his body jerked and he fell to the ground gasping for breath, trying to swear at her, his hands flailing in the air as spittle and foam drooled out his mouth. Eddie and Benjy, still keeping a lookout in case anyone happened to venture into the deserted alley, hurried over and the three stood watching in frozen fascination as the man gasped his last breath, his body twitching before it finally went still. It had taken a mere two minutes, if that.

"Mon Dieu, what is that stuff? muttered Eddie as Benjy bent down to check the man was indeed dead. He pulled his lids over sightless, bulging eyes. Eddie looked over at Cat, standing in shock at what she’d just done and moved closer to pull her to him. He didn’t know where to look, close to, the sight of his sister’s outfit and exposed rouged breasts still a bit much for him to deal with. Are you all right, M’Dear? he asked quietly. That was quite some performance. Drury Lane are definitely missing a trick without you on the stage." He tried to make light of the situation. Cat just smiled and shivered slightly, unable to take her eyes off the dead body lying still at her feet.

Practical as ever and used to lifeless bodies, Benjy rolled the dead man over to the wall and propped him up in a sitting position so to anyone passing by he merely looked drunk and asleep. Dead drunk.

Cat pulled herself together. Right, he’s left the door open, just as we hoped and we know there are three more of them upstairs. Jean, the man I followed this afternoon, plus two others. Gerard’s wife and daughter are also definitely there with them; did you hear the conversation? Eddie and Benjy nodded silently.

I’m going up, so just follow quietly but keep hidden behind me. I’ll leave it to you to know when to come. Are you sure there’s no one else on guard, lurking around here? Cat looked around fearfully as the other two shook their heads.

We’ve been watching closely. No one anywhere near here. If there was, they’d be making a fuss after that little episode, nodded Eddie sagely. So Cat took a deep breath and headed in through the concealed door, now standing ajar.

Chapter Two

Pulling her fichu loosely around her shoulders again, the Duchess of Firle mounted the spiral staircase on tiptoe and headed down the corridor towards the set of doors from where she could hear murmurs of conversation in the grim stillness. She recognised the doors and the corridor and shivered, but resolutely refused to look further down the wide hallway or think about anything going on in any other chambers. Pausing before the door, feeling like she was indeed taking part in a bizarre theatrical performance at Drury Lane, the leading actress took a deep breath and launched herself inside, on to the stage for the performance of her life. She had three of them to perform for now.

Three men against one woman. A random part of her brain wondered what her gambler brother would make of those odds? She’d no idea her gambler brother had already assessed them, taken into account his sister was definitely NOT an ordinary, ‘mere woman’, even if the three men were big, ruthless ex-militia. He’d decided the odds were definitely in his sister’s favour but beyond that, for once he didn’t want to think about odds, he was still terrified for what she was up against.

Weeeell, ‘ello gennulmen, or shuds I say, Gud Eeeve-nin? Cat pouted suggestively at them, tossed her head provocatively and pulled off her fichu with elan, stuffing the ends loosely into her belt. Three pairs of hard eyes instantly turned from suspicion to hungry lust as a voluptuous vision in red and black stood on the threshold before them. Jean had risen to his feet, hand stretched out for his sword at her surprise entrance; it was the nearest weapon to him and lying, unsheathed, on the table next to a brace of pistols and a metal tipped whip, with dried blood on the metal end. He was idly shuffling a pack of dog-eared playing cards but when he saw her, his hand froze in mid-air.

Bleedin’ ‘ell! Where th’ FUCK did yous spring from? he exclaimed in astonishment. The woman in front of him was indeed a sight for sore eyes: a bountiful and unusually beautiful whore. He’d never seen the like.

Taking another swig of wine and watching as the men followed the movement and stared lewdly at her breasts, the whore sauntered across the room towards them. Oh, Albert sent me up ahead ov ‘im. Yer see, I bin sent rahnd as a ‘presint.’ Cat wiggled her hips suggestively which in turn made her breasts jiggle. Y’know, by yer mates back at th’ tavern. She tossed her head in the general direction of where she’d been that afternoon. They woz feelin’ a mite sorry fer yous, seein’ as ‘ow yous are stuck in ‘ere on dooty an’ all, an’ not out celebratin’ wiv ‘em back there along wiv a coupla friends o’mine.

Jean’s suspicion abated as she casually referred to his friends back at the tavern where he’d called in briefly, earlier that afternoon, but he still asked, Where’s Albert anyways?

Cat sniggered rudely. ’E’s still outside... y’know, she temporarily put down one of the wine flagons on the table and made a coarse, unseemly gesture with her hand. Yous men, too much ale; ’e were pissin’ fer France when I left ‘im. She looked at the three of them suggestively again, Yous all as big as ol’ Albert? ‘E said ‘e cud show a girl a gud time fer sure, fill me gud an’ propah in all sorts o’ me ‘oles an’ I only charges a few sou fer extra stuff laike that. Yer wanna join in too? I laike twos or threes at a time. She couldn’t believe what she was saying but merely smirked enticingly, eying up the fronts of their pantaloons, obviously assessing their potential while she caressed one of her own breasts to tease them. Three’s me speshalty, all in one go, laike a party, and she giggled, shocked and obviously personally ignorant of what she was talking about, merely repeating some commentary she’d picked up on years previously from the same source as her gutter language, "but at a push, I can sumtimes mannij four. See ‘ow talented an’ creative I is?

Outside in the corridor, Eddie nearly choked to hear his sheltered, well brought up sister negotiate like a common cheap tart and the subject matter made him gawp even more than he had before. He whispered to Benjy, Stap me if I’m not going to have a very strong word with the brother-in-law about m’sister when we get back. This smuggler business of his is all very well, but he’s obviously taken her to some very rum places if she’s starting to talk like that. It was bad enough outside. The Dowager would have a monumental fit, not to mention m’mother and Lady Aubrey; they really would faint. Not that I think they’d understand half of what she’s just discussed, but merely looking at her would give them nightmares. The valet grinned back at him, deciding he’d like to be a fly on the wall during that conversation, wondering indeed where she’d got it from as he doubted it was from his master, given the current state of their relationship and knowing he kept his smuggling persona and ducal one well apart. He suspected that man would be as taken aback as the lady’s brother, but he was still entertained at the entire prospect.

Back in the room, Cat was now leaning suggestively over the table. She’d had another gulp of wine and was waving the flagon with the poisoned contents in the air. So, where’s th’ uvver wimmin then, Louis? She looked questioningly at Jean’s companions. Albert said there woz two uvvers up ‘ere so I thorts we woz goin’ ter ‘ave a party?"

Louis identified himself by answering, gaze fixated on her loose breasts. Fergit ‘em, useless bitches back there, no bleedin’ gud fer anythin’, don’t knows ‘ow ter do nuffin’ ‘cept wail.

Then Bertrand joined the conversation as a sudden thought struck him, ’Ang on, wunder wot they’d make of anuvver woman joinin’ ‘em? He peered up at Cat with a crudely suggestive look. ’Ow’d yer like doin’ it wiv anuvver bitch? We’d like ter watch that, we wud, tasty, then we cud ‘ave our turns wiv yer aftah. At least yer knows wot yer doin’.

Outside, Eddie stiffened, this was getting too much for him; he had to go in and put an end to it before she was made to do something shocking. He made to move towards the doorway but Benjy grasped his arm firmly and shook his head, whispering, Leave ‘er be. She knows wot’s wot an’ wot she’s doin’. Eddie very much doubted his headstrong sister did, but sank back against the corridor wall and hoped the valet was right.

Cat was speechless, this was something outside her comprehension. More perversions on top of the others discussed between her and the depraved men? How could two women perform together, it was unnatural, surely? A bit like what went on between two men. She’d vaguely come across reference to both during a few Latin lessons in her youth with Eddie, some odd Roman and Greek poetry, but their tutor had hurriedly glossed over it, extremely embarrassed, then straight back to something more prosaic, although she suddenly remembered the youthful Eddie had been more than fascinated and his grasp of the language had been far better than hers. She thought she might ask Carlotta about it all at some point, see if she could explain. To cover her ignorance and embarrassment, she just laughed. Well, Boys, ‘tis not reeeally me fing, y’know, men are much more ter me taste, spesh’ly naice BIG men laike yous three, but then mebbe, if’n I ‘as sum more wine, an’ yous gives Rosie a big tip, ‘oo knows wot I cuds find meself doin, eh? She took yet another swig and held out the other flagon towards them, pouring the wine into their now empty tankards, making sure she leaned suggestively over each one as she did so.

"Santé! À bas les aristos!" and she spat on the floor uncouthly."Vive La Revolution! Vive La France! she cried encouragingly as Louis and Bertrand raised their tankards to toast her. Jean picked up his, but then had a change of mind and looked towards the door. Wot th’ ’ell is keepin’ Albert? he muttered and looked piercingly at Cat. Are yer sure yer left ‘im outside ‘avin a piss?"

’Course I dids. She looked unconcerned and shrugged. P’raps ‘e’s ‘avin’ a shit, or mebbe gorn ter get sum more wine or ale; ’e’ll be back in a wink, wassamatta wiv yer?

Jean looked more concerned. Nah, ‘e wudn’t do that wivout tellin us first. He stood up. I’s goin’ dahn ter ‘ave a look fer ‘im, can’t be too careful, that’s me, and with that he picked up one of his pistols and walked towards the door.

There was nothing Cat could do except pray Eddie and Benjy had heard and were ready to deal with Jean, quietly. A couple of minutes passed with no sound outside so taking a deep breath, Cat raised the flagon to her mouth again, toasting the other two expectantly and rolling her eyes suggestively at them. They shrugged and in one gulp, both downed their tankards of wine, obviously not as efficient or wary as their suspicious colleague.

Cat went behind their chairs to pull them out of the way and stop any unnecessary clatter as they toppled over. Both men had lurched to their feet, clutching their throats as the poison hit them and they tried unsuccessfully to speak. Within a minute or two, jerking and contorting strangely and foaming at the mouth, they crumpled silently to the floor, as dead as Albert down in the alley.

Quickly, she ran outside to the corridor to see the crumpled form of Jean, with Benjy kneeling over him. Eddie was standing, holding one of his duelling pistols the wrong way round; he’d obviously crowned Jean over the head with it. They pulled his lifeless form back into the room and Benjy went and inspected the two other bodies. Looking up at Eddie and Cat he shook his head. Gorn, was all he said and once again closed the dead men’s eyes.

Never mind them, Cat cried. In there, as she pointed to another room off the main chamber they were standing in. Gerard’s wife and daughter. She ran over and burst through into the adjoining bedchamber. They found two bedraggled women there, both comatose and both covered in bruises, cuts and abrasions. One, a middle-aged matron, was tied to a chair, head drooping on to her chest, with a grimy rag stuffed in her mouth to stop her screams. Her shift was in shreds and her ample figure was visible everywhere; there was a nasty cut around the base of her throat which was raw and only partly scabbed over. Her daughter, a slender girl of around twenty at the most, dress gone and virtually naked apart from bedraggled stockings and a ripped shift which covered nothing, was tied to the old wooden bedframe, on top of a filthy, noisome mattress and also gagged by a filthy rag. In addition to her bruises, there was a long cut down the centre of her torso from neck to belly which was festering and oozing.

Cat grimaced at the sight and hurried over to the older woman in the chair, gently lifted her head and, pulling the dirty cloth away from her mouth, she gasped at the long cut around the woman’s neck which was still intermittently bleeding. Madame...? she patted her cheek gently to try and bring her round. Madame Fourneval, can you hear me? There was no response. Benjy, find some water, even some ale or wine, hurry. Pulling a stiletto from one of her boots, she quickly cut the ropes but the woman’s head drooped back on to her chest and there was still no answer from her. Cat rose and went to join Eddie who was trying to bring round the younger girl on the bed. He’d released her bonds with a stiletto he’d pulled out of one of his boots, a copy of his sister’s habit, but she too was unconscious. Brother and sister stood silently and looked at the two women in dismay, grimacing and appalled at the state they were in. Both had been half starved, judging by their hollow cheeks and parched lips. Apart from the bruises, sores and evidence of abuse on their bodies, the girl on the bed looked well used. As well as semen, remnants of blood on her thighs was testimony to her original virginal state.

This is shocking, Cat, shocking, Eddie muttered in a hollow tone, almost speechless in the face of such brutality. I’ve never seen the like... but if we can’t bring ‘em round, Benjy and I will just have to carry ‘em down, somehow.

Benjy returned then with a jug of water and a couple of empty beakers from the other room. Cat went back to the woman on the chair and Eddie and Benjy tried to rouse the girl. Eddie chafed her hands while Benjy lifted her limp form and tried to get some liquid past her lips; Cat meanwhile tore a strip from one of her petticoats and dipped it in the water; she dabbed it over the older woman’s face and patted her cheeks again, speaking to her quietly and reassuringly. Finally, the woman moaned and opened her eyes. Greeted by the sight of a sympathetic female face, albeit an apparent woman of the streets, she burst into tears and Cat promptly took her in her arms and told her they’d come to rescue her and her daughter. Florence Fourneval took the beaker of water from Cat in shaking hands and drank thirstily and Cat patted her hand and left her to compose herself for a moment while she went over to the bed. The girl on there was now moaning quietly but was still only semi-conscious. Benjy was dabbing at the long cut on her torso with his handkerchief, tutting with disgust and concern.

We have to get them out of here quickly, Eddie, Cat whispered urgently. What do you think? Leaving the capable valet to his ministrations for a moment, Eddie returned with her to see if Francis’s aunt could walk. Between them, they helped her out of her chair but after a few unsteady steps, she seemed to collect herself and stood firmly on her own two feet, swaying slightly. She immediately tottered over to see to her daughter, but it was obvious there was no time to wait for the younger girl to recover sufficiently, so Eddie turned to Benjy and Cat.

We’ll have to carry or drag her downstairs between us; it won’t be easy on that winding stairway but there’s no help for it, then Carlotta can look after her as best she can. Cat, you stay here with her mother and we’ll come back for her as quickly as possible. With that, he and Benjy lifted the gaunt girl off the bed and with an arm draped over each of their shoulders, they walked slowly out of the room, through the outer chamber and back into the corridor towards the stairs.

Cat helped the older woman into the outer chamber, sat her down at the table and gave her a small cup of wine from her flagon. The other woman saw the two dead bodies of her former tormentors and smiled briefly in obvious relief. The alcohol seemed to revive her somewhat and she finally looked at Cat who had come to sit at her side and rub her hands in comfort. She seemed bemused at her saviour. I don’t know who you are, Mademoiselle, but thank you from the bottom of my heart. I thought we were going to die here. She paused as more tears ran down her cheeks again. I don’t suppose you know what has happened to Gerard, my husband? They took him as well, but I haven’t seen him for days or is it weeks? She gave a pitiful sob as she shook her head in confusion. I’ve lost track of the time we’ve been here. The last time I saw him was when some terrible man beat Amandine and me in front of him before he… he raped Amandine and… and made me… made me... the distraught woman choked as she paused. My precious daughter, she’s barely eighteen, an innocent, a virgin, it was so terrible. What they did to her… depraved. She couldn’t finish as the tears flowed again. I don’t even know how long we’ve been in this hellish place, she shuddered. What has France come to? I thought my head would be next. I’d heard tales about this terrible prison but thought when it was stormed by the people last year and Bernheim disappeared, all that was over and done with; but we’ve never hurt a soul and my husband has always looked after his tenants and retainers. We have no title nor great wealth. We live a very quiet life these days, apart from a short visit when my son got married, I haven’t been to Paris or socialised there for years and Gerard has no interest in politics.

Cat looked at the woman and tried to be calm despite the fury seething through her. The story sounded exactly like that of her own parents, except she knew the real reason why the Fourneval family had been taken. This has nothing to do with the Revolution, Madame, but I can’t go into it now. However, I believe your husband is still here, so take heart, but Bernheim has him and now he’s got MY husband too. The older woman suddenly turned her head and peered at Cat curiously, obviously wondering how come a street whore had a husband of interest to Bernheim and also puzzled as to how and why she spoke with such an aristocratic accent.

YOUR husband?

Yes, Madame. I am Francis Granville’s wife. I am Marie-Catherine Granville, the Duchess of Firle and I’m French too. Did you not hear we were married late last year? I’m afraid I’ve yet to meet my mother-in-law, your sister I believe, but I am, in effect, your niece by marriage.

Obviously, news of the sudden marriage hadn’t yet reached France, or more likely, Florence Fourneval couldn’t associate a tawdry woman of the streets with the wife of a Duke. In other circumstances Cat would have found her gawping expression hilarious, but not now. The other woman was looking at her disbelievingly, her mouth open, making Cat realise she was still half naked. Hastily, she pulled the fichu from her belt and wrapped it around her neck and chest, tucking it into her bodice. Needs must, Madame. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she said plainly. It was the only way to get in here and I was desperate.

"Mon Dieu. Incroyable, was all the older woman whispered. No, not incredible, unbelievable," and she simply continued to stare at Cat.

Cat took her hand and spoke determinedly. I will get them out, Madame, believe me. My brother and a friend are helping me, they’ve taken your daughter to safety and will be back shortly to help you down. We have transport outside. Will you be all right to wait here until he comes? My sister-in-law is waiting with the transport and will look after you, but your daughter will need your comfort and help. I’m afraid there are only a few of us, I can’t explain, but we had… there were some difficulties last night. The older woman simply nodded and looked worried as she recalled the events of the previous evening and her hand went to the cut round her throat. She was about to reply when there was a sudden movement. Jean’s large and menacing bulk rose off the floor and he was unexpectedly standing, looking at them angrily from across the table, rubbing the back of his head. Florence Fourneval cried out in panic and Cat was instantly alarmed.

You evil, connivin’ cunt, he spat out. I jes’ knew there woz sumthin’ not rite abaht yous, yer far too pretty by ‘alf ter be a fuckin’ tavern ‘ore. He quickly looked around for the others and then spotted the bodies on the floor.

Cat had risen to her feet and confronted him from her side of the wide table, pushing the older woman out of the way, trying to gesture her to move to the other side of the room. They’re dead, she told him coldly, now speaking in her normal voice, and good riddance, You Depraved, Evil Bastards. I hope you all rot in hell.

For a long moment they eyed each other and as Jean moved to come around the table, so Cat moved to stay opposite him. Fortunately, Florence Fourneval had rapidly moved herself away and was now standing, frozen in terror on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall to support herself, a hand to her mouth. In the middle of the table still rested Jean’s sword, the whip and one remaining pistol. Cat had been trying not to look at the blood on the metal-tipped whip and didn’t want Jean to get to the pistol, couldn’t risk him getting a shot off. Not because she was afraid he would shoot her, but only that the noise would alert Bernheim and Dupont down the hallway. She watched Jean closely, hardly daring to breathe.

I’s gonna ‘ave yer, Bitch, jes’ yous wait. Yer’ll be beggin’ fer mercy by th’ time I finish wiv yer. I’ll bet yer not even a real ‘ore, are yous? Yer way too clean, even wiv yer tits out everywheres. So, ‘oo are yer?

No, I’m definitely not a common tavern whore, Cat replied calmly. Dreadfully sorry to disappoint and all that, as my brother would say, and she swept a hand across her gaudy outfit, still not moving her eyes from the man. In fact, I’m not a common anything. As someone told me only a few evenings ago, I am a Somebody. I think I might therefore call myself The Harlot tonight, The Dangerous Harlot; rather fitting as The Shadow’s woman, wouldn’t you say? And I most definitely am a Somebody who can’t and won’t tolerate vile men like you, or Bernheim or Dupont. That’s why I’m going to kill you all and take him out of here.

The Shadder’s woman? Come ter rescue ‘im? A bitch an’ oo’s army? Tha’s a real funny joke. He laughed mirthlessly, Hah, yous jes’ a woman. Yer crazed in th’ ‘ead if yer fink yer’ll git one ovah Bern’eim.

I beg your pardon? I, Sir, am a Lady, not a bitch. In my world a bitch is a female dog and I most certainly am not a canine, delightful pets that most are. For your information, I am in fact, as well as being a Lady, someone’s pussycat, a very different species… and I don’t need an army, as you can see. She pointed her hand over to where his two companions lay dead on the floor. Certainly not to deal with a useless, common, small-pricked and dirty simpleton like you. Her words were taunting and disdainful.

His anger boiled over at the insults and he reached across the table for the pistol. As he moved, so did she, but her reflexes were much quicker. Grabbing the sword, without thinking twice, Cat literally threw herself across the table and, even though it wasn’t a sharp rapier, drove it straight into the region of his heart with all the strength she possessed. Long ago practice under an apple tree finally came good.

Jean never reached the pistol, simply stared in disbelief at the sword sticking out of his chest and then at her for brief seconds. ’Oo th’ fuck ARE yer? he rasped as he slowly sank to the cold floor, but he was dead before he landed and heard her answer.

Me? she answered. I’m just a mere woman...

As Jean fell to join his companions on the floor, Eddie and Benjy hurried through the doorway. They stopped in shock at the sight that greeted them. It had been a night of shocks and Eddie shook his head in disbelief at what was happening.

Madame Fourneval, her hand still over her mouth, was leaning against the far wall; her face was white and she was obviously on the point of collapse again. The body of Jean was lying sprawled on the floor, his big sword sticking out of his chest. Cat was standing stock still, eyes wide with horror as she realised she had actually killed someone with a sword, in cold blood. Certainly, she’d killed three other men that evening, by encouraging them to drink her poisoned wine, but somehow it wasn’t the same as driving a blade into living flesh and blood.

Eddie rushed to his sister’s side, leaving Benjy to try and keep Madame Fourneval from fainting. Cat? Cat, what happened? Sweeting, are you all right? Eddie patted her cheek gently and her eyes gradually lost