“Two or three, I believe. Although Pelletan may have been the only one who had actually seen the boy just a day or two before, when he was brought to the prison to treat his illness.”
“Did he identify the body as belonging to the Dauphin?”
“Mon Dieu.” Angry, purple color suffused the normally placid royal’s plump features. “I hope to God you are not suggesting that those ridiculous old whispers are true?”
“Which whispers?”
“As if you do not know! The idea that the Dauphin did not die in the Temple—that he was spirited away from prison while the body of some other poor lad was left in his place.”
The persistence of the myth that the son of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette had not actually died in prison was an obvious source of embarrassment and chagrin to the two uncles and cousin who dreamt of someday occupying the dead Dauphin’s vacant throne. When Sebastian simply remained silent, Provence said, “Please to God you won’t say anything of this to my niece, Marie-Thérèse. You’ve no notion the distress these rumors cause her—or how many charlatans have presented themselves to her over the years, claiming to be her long-lost brother. I’ve seen her made ill for days by one of those encounters.”
Sebastian frowned. “She did not see the Dauphin’s body after his death?”
“No. Nor had she seen him for nearly two years before that. The boy was torn from his mother’s arms in the summer of ’ninety-three; Marie-Thérèse never saw him again.”
“Seems curious that the revolutionaries didn’t show the body to the boy’s sister—if for no other reason than to remove all doubt as to his fate, once and for all.”
“I wish they had,” grumbled Provence, shifting his considerable weight in his chair. “They would have saved us all a great deal of bother.”
“Are you certain the boy actually is dead?”
He expected the Bourbon to bluster and heatedly deny the very possibility of any suggestion the Dauphin might still live. Instead, he blinked, his eyes swimming with a sudden uprush of emotion, his skin looking mottled and prematurely old. “If by some miracle the boy did survive— I’m not saying I believe he did, mind you! But if by some miracle my poor nephew is truly alive out there, somewhere, he would not be fit to be king. What those animals did to him in that prison . . . Let’s just say it would have destroyed him, both physically and mentally.”
“What did they do to him?” asked Sebastian.
To his surprise, it was the courtier, Ambrose LaChapelle, who answered him. “You don’t want to know,” he said softly. “Believe me; you don’t want to know.”
Chapter 22
A sharp, bitter wind slapped into Sebastian’s face as he walked up St. James’s Street toward Piccadilly. Settling his hat more firmly on his head, he became aware of an elegant town carriage drawn by a beautifully matched team of dapple-grays slowing beside him. He heard the snap of the near window being let down, saw the crest of the House of Jarvis proudly emblazoned on the door panel.
He kept walking.
“I had a troubling conversation this morning with a certain overwrought and somewhat choleric Parisian,” said Charles, Lord Jarvis.
“Oh?” Sebastian turned onto Berkeley. The carriage rolled along beside him.
“You simply cannot leave well enough alone, can you?”
Sebastian gave a low, soft laugh. “No.”
His father-in-law was not amused. “With any other man, I might be tempted to hint at all sorts of dire consequences to life and limb—your life and limb. But in this case, I realize such tactics would be counterproductive. Shall I appeal instead to your better nature?”
Sebastian drew up and pivoted to face him. “My better nature? Do explain.”
The liveried coachman brought his horses to a standstill.
Jarvis chose his words carefully, obviously conscious of the listening servants. “I’ve no doubt that by now you know what’s at stake here. Given your oft-stated attitudes toward this war, I should think you would be anxious not to do anything that might interfere with a process that could save lives. Millions of lives.”
“Oh? And when have you ever cared about saving lives?”
Jarvis’s face lit up with what looked like a genuine smile. “Seldom. However, I am well aware of which arguments are most likely to appeal to you. And what is at stake here is real.”