Prologue
The dull glow of the fire cast the only light into the shadows of the wood panelled drawing room. The two men stood in strained silence, broken at last by the old man’s voice rising softly above the gentle crackling of the flames.
“You’re quite sure?”
The younger man swallowed, “Quite sure. We’ve had word, they’re on their way here now. They slipped by the watch and there isn’t time to summon help. Lord Hargreaves, we have to leave now and pray that they don’t find it, or us.”
“They won’t find it,” both men’s eyes flicked to the table between them and the object upon it. Hargreaves sighed and ran a hand through his white hair. “I’m not running. Not from my home. Not anymore. I shall make my stand here, and come dawn, I will be alive, or dead, but the secret shall be safe no matter what.”
“Sir! I beg you...”
The younger man started forward, but the older man held up a hand and gave a slow shake of his head. “You know what to do. It is out of our hands now and into hers.”
“But, you have not seen her for years, you don’t even know if...”
“It is time.” Hargreaves said firmly.
The younger man forced his eyes from the object on the table to meet the old man’s gaze.
“Take this to her, to her alone. Stop for no one. More hangs on this than even you can possibly imagine.” The old man sat down heavily, as if uttering the words had imbued them with a force that drained him. Passing a trembling hand across his brow, he pushed the rectangular package across the table, one finger lingering uncertainly on the plain brown paper. He smiled weakly, “I fear I shall not see you again. Good bye and good luck. I only hope that she is up to the task.”
“What if she is not?”
“Then God help us all.”
Chapter 1
A light breeze whispered up the hill, barely rippling the sheets of mist climbing from the river. The few gas lamps had long since spluttered out, leaving the streets in shadow as the first pink glow of sunlight began to trickle over Montmartre’s uneven tumble of rooftops. Somewhere below a horse clipped along cobbles, the rumble of the cart punctuating the bird song as Paris edged towards a new day.
Only not everyone was waking, there were those that had not slept at all, and in a narrow lane, beneath the wooden sign of a black cat, a door swung open releasing a chorus of drunken song and laughter. In the gutter opposite a dog raised its head, nose twitching as it caught the scent of perfume and tobacco, and it watched as the petite silhouette of a young woman stepped out somewhat unsteadily into the street.
As the door slammed shut behind her Pigalle blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. She leant on the wall for a second before she began to totter up the sloping street, cursing every now and again under her breath as her boot heels skidded on the damp cobbles. She smiled as she saw that the dog had risen to its feet and was padding softly after her. Stopping, she turned and the animal paused for a moment, before slowly slinking towards her. Crouching slightly she held out a hand, which the dog sniffed inquisitively before moving closer and nuzzling against her skirts, his tail bobbing gently as she ruffled his ears.
“Well, bonjour, mon ami. Who are you? You’ve been waiting for me? Are you hungry? Me too, come, let’s see what we can find you.”
She began to walk through the gradually brightening streets, a few houses showing the first signs of life as smoke curled from chimneys and from behind curtains came the gleam of lit lamps. The delicious scent of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee filled the air and Pigalle realised just how hungry she was. She quickened her pace, marching uphill through the light mist towards her regular coffee stop. Beside her the dog suddenly tensed and stopped. Pigalle looked down at him quizzically, then frowned. From up ahead came the clatter of running footsteps drawing nearer.
