Her thoughts flickered away to something that had lain warmly at the back of her mind ever since she woke. Charles… dear, stupid, high-minded Charles. Maddening that they had encountered that French sentry just then. He had almost said—what? A soft little smile warmed her face. Darling Charles playing adventurer and too scrupulous to involve her. But was it only that? There was something else he had said, something less warm in the memory: ‘I’m not my own master.’ What could he have meant by that?
She would not let herself imagine the worst. If he had been married already, he would have told them. Her scrupulous Charles would never have lied, even by omission. What then? The Bourbons, of course, but how? ‘I’m not my own master,’ and then, soon afterwards, ‘Sonia, let me…’ Let him what? She had been teasing him, of course, about her own position, about England, and reputation. What had she nearly teased him into? She smiled again. Marry Denbigh, indeed! Or Philip Haverton for the matter of that. What would it have been like to drive through the night with one of them at her side? To be deposited, at last, so unceremoniously on the carriage seat? Imagine Philip doing that. She stretched out her trousered legs and looked at them meditatively. And what in the world would either of them say if they could see her now? At the thought, the secret little smile was back again, to disappear instantly at a renewed delirious muttering from Elizabeth. What a brute, after all, she was to be happy, actually happy, with Elizabeth so ill…
But happiness blows where it pleases and with the best will in the world, she could not make herself miserable. Instead, she tried to make Elizabeth a little more comfortable in her corner of the carriage and bathed her hot forehead with spirits of vinegar.
The doctor, when he arrived, proved immensely unhelpful. Even the soldiers seemed less than optimistic about him, but insisted that he was the best Arcis had to offer. His hands were dirty, his breath stank of garlic and his only suggestion was that he should bleed Elizabeth at once. He produced a dirty black parcel from the pocket of his coat and unrolled it to reveal a sinister-looking collection of instruments.
‘No.’ Sonia put herself firmly between him and Elizabeth. ‘No, thank you. Oh, thank God, Charles! Tell him to go away.’ No time now to be thinking of last night. Charles was busy at once dealing with the doctor. When at last the man had gone grumbling off, clutching the fee he had extorted, his first question was about Elizabeth.
‘She’s very ill.’ Sonia’s white, anxious face and shadowed eyes made him furiously angry with himself, with everything. “What are we going to do?’ Her voice shook and he could see she was near the end of her tether.
‘Take her to Paris,’ Keeping his voice low and calm, he was intensely aware of their strange position and the watching, fascinated soldiers.
‘To Paris? Are you quite mad?’
‘Not at all.’ The two soldiers had withdrawn, now, to a respectful distance, but he kept his voice low. ‘I’ve seen the Czar and shown him Napoleon’s letter. At last, it’s decided him. Don’t you see the preparations? The march on Paris begins this afternoon. We must get there first.’
‘For the pleasure of being besieged there? Charles, you’re crazy.’
‘There’ll be no siege. A couple of days’ fighting at the most Then—it will be over. Don’t you remember saying that you wanted to see the end of the adventure? Well, here’s your chance. And—where else can you hope to find the attention Elizabeth needs? Besides I have to go. I have messages from the Comte d’Artois—not to mention the Czar’s.’
‘Oh I see. What alternative have I?’
‘None, I think.’
She shrugged. ‘When do we start?’
‘At once. Here come the horses now. They are bringing food for you to eat on the way.’
‘You mean to tell me that I am to arrive at Paris like this?’ An expressive glance drew his attention to her costume.
‘If we get there at all it will be on the papers Loyet gave me. Never mind, urchin, I told you once before, I seem to remember, that you make a gallant boy.’
‘Gallant fiddlesticks! Paris—the capital of civilisation—like this.’ And then, on an entirely different note: ‘Good gracious, Charles, look!’
It was indeed a surprising little procession that was approaching, since with one exception it was composed entirely of the immensely tall Cossacks of the Imperial Guard. The exception, a small man in drab civilian clothes, introduced himself with much respectful bowing, as the coachman who was to take them to Paris.
‘You speak French?’ Charles motioned the two Cossacks who were carrying an ornate luncheon hamper to put it into the carriage.
‘Oui, monsieur. I am French. The escort will take us to the limits of the army. After that, I understand you have papers. As to horses—we must just pray to God—and pay.’
‘Quite so.’ Four enormous, miscellaneous horses were being harnessed up as they talked, and now the coachman climbed up to his box and the escort grouped itself round the carriage. Charles climbed in and sat down opposite Sonia. ‘This is better than driving.’ He opened the hamper. ‘Champagne, I’m glad to see, and cold chicken. A little unusual, perhaps, as a breakfast, but never mind.’
‘Good God!’ Sonia watched him expertly loosening the champagne cork. ‘What did you do to the Czar?’
‘Gave him the news he needed, that’s all. I owe you something for catching that French courier for me.’
‘Being caught by him, you mean. I’ve never been so frightened.’
‘You hid it very well. You must be a lioness when you’re feeling brave. Heaven defend me from being on the other side.’
‘That poor Frenchman: I do hope they are taking care of him. But were the papers he carried so important?’
‘Important! I should rather think so. That letter of Napoleon’s to his wife was worth an army to us. The Czar said so himself. You see, it was in answer to one from Marie Louise warning him of the possibility of revolt in Paris if the war goes on much longer. It’s what I told the Czar, of course, when I saw him before; now, at last, he believes me. And then, in his answer, Napoleon referred to his own plan of trying to take the Allied armies in the rear… It leaves them no course so good as to take Paris and rely on opening up a line of communication through Flanders. So—the march begins.’
‘With us as outriders? And in all this luxury, too.’ She was eating a leg of cold chicken as she talked. ‘He must indeed have been pleased with you, Charles. Those horses are worth a fortune.’
‘It’s worth plenty to him to have me reach Paris in good time. I carry his letters to Talleyrand.’
‘Oh, I see. Does that mean he has come down at last on the royalist side?’
‘I wish it did. No, he’s still hedging on that. I don’t believe he’s got over that crazy notion of putting Bernadotte on the throne of France. Though what he says is that he will await the decision of the French themselves. So you can see why it is so important that I get to Paris with the Comte D’Artois’ messages.’
‘And the Czar sends you, horses, champagne and all. What a skilled diplomatist you are getting to be, Charles! I hardly recognise you these days. Life was much simpler when we were just playing cards for money. And quite as honest too, if you ask me. Thank you.’ He had contrived, with a good deal of spilling, to pour a little champagne into a glass. She raised it and smiled at him across it, the old teasing sparkle in her eyes. ‘I needed this. Dear Charles, don’t look so serious. Drink some too and you will feel better.’
If she had hoped to tease him into a more personal conversation, she failed. He was indeed looking serious. ‘Honest! What can you mean? Do you not realise that the fate of France may depend on what we are doing now?’
‘Yes, that’s just what worries me.’
‘If you’d met the Comte D’Artois, you’d understand.’
‘What a spell he’s cast over you. But what about his brother? Do you remember what you used to call him? “Louis the Undesirable.” And now look at you.’
‘Now I h
ave a cause. It’s what I’ve wanted all my life.’
‘I just wish I was sure it was the right cause. No, no, don’t start telling me all over again. And don’t tell me that the end justifies the means either, because I won’t believe you. Not but what it’s delicious champagne. I just wish the carriage didn’t jolt so.’ She smiled at him sleepily, out of an aching heart. Last night had been magic, today was—just today. Charles had remembered his cause, and his scruples. When would he have time to remember her? ‘What are you thinking of?’ she asked.
‘Talleyrand.’
‘Oh, Charles!’ She settled down in her corner of the carriage. ‘In that case, wake me when we get to Paris. And Charles, look after Elizabeth.’
‘Of course. But I’m afraid you’ll wake many times before we get to Paris. It’s a long way, still, and a hazardous one.’
‘I know, but I’m so tired I could sleep through any number of hazards. ’Specially with you here to cope with them. Only, dear Charles, don’t forget us among your causes.’
Chapter Fifteen
Paris I It was a pity, of course, to get there, after a surprisingly uneventful journey, in the dark, but even in the daylight, Sonia, who had almost lost count of the nights since she had last slept in her comfortable bed at Châtillon, would hardly have been able to rouse a spark of excitement. Somewhere between Arcis and here, the journey had turned into an endless nightmare, with Elizabeth’s delirious mutterings for its leitmotif. When the carriage stopped at last, after so many temporary stoppages, at the great closed gates of a hotel in Paris, she hardly had the strength to ask the question.
‘Whose house?’
Charles had to lean close to catch her words. ‘Mme de Morne’s. We shall be safe here.’
‘Safe? Oh dear, yes…’ She was almost too tired to care for that, or even for the odd appearance she must make. Charles had jumped down to talk to an ancient and reluctant concierge, now the great gates were slowly opening… With an effort, she pulled herself upright, and, when Charles opened the carriage door and made to lift her down, ‘No, bring Elizabeth,’ she said. ‘I can walk.’
She could—just. The big house beyond the courtyard was quiet and dark. She did not even know whether it was very late or very early. She was aware of flickering lights, murmuring voices, an exclamation—of surprise—of pity? It did not matter. Someone had taken her arm to help her upstairs and along what seemed an interminable corridor, then she was in a room, being helped out of her clothes, surprised, for a moment, at unfamiliar problems they presented. The bed was heavenly soft…someone pulled the covers up around her. She was asleep.
When she woke, light was filtering through the slats of closed shutters. From the courtyard below, she could hear a succession of comfortable domestic noises, the clink of a pail, voices, a girl’s laugh and, further off, the melody of church bells. Could it really be only Sunday? The last few days, and even more their nights, had seemed to stretch out endlessly… If it was Sunday, it was the twenty-eighth of March—she tried feebly to calculate, but fell asleep again while she was doing so.
When she next woke, someone was standing by the bed. The shutters had been thrown back, to let morning sunshine into the room. She looked up at the unknown face. ‘What day is it?’ she asked.
‘Monday morning. You’ve slept a long time, but M Vincent said we had best leave you to it. I’m Mme de Morne.’ She was a dark woman in her early thirties, with a handsome face that spoke at once of kindness and the habit of command. ‘I hope you feel better?’
‘Much, thank you. You are wonderfully kind to a stranger.’
‘We are none of us strangers who work for the cause.’
‘Oh.’ Grasping this, Sonia realised that she was accepted as a royalist like Charles. But she was still too tired for explanations. Besides there was something much more important. ‘Elizabeth?’ she asked.
‘Your friend? Still asleep. The doctor says that the longer she sleeps, the better. Indeed, he is not unhopeful that she may be better when she wakes; he thinks the crisis of the fever has passed.’
‘Thank God for that. So we did right to bring her.’
‘You did the only possible thing. Paris is crowded already with refugees. I do not like to think what might have happened to you.’
Sonia found herself wondering exactly what story Charles had told this kind woman. It would be best not to discuss the past in too much detail before she had seen him. She moved impatiently in bed: stories…deceptions…call them lies…how tired she was of it all.
‘You are tired still.’ Mme de Morne reacted instantly to the movement. ‘Shall I leave you to rest some more?’
‘No, please don’t. May I not get up?’
‘When you have had something to eat.’ She rang a hand bell that stood by the bed and gave the necessary orders. ‘M Vincent is out. He was sent for, first thing, to M Talleyrand’s again.’
‘Oh. But—what’s happening? What’s the news?’
‘Terrible. I had never believed it would be like this. Listen—can you not hear it?’
At first, Sonia could only hear the familiar, pleasant household noises, then, behind them, further off came the deeper, sinister sound she had heard so often that winter—the note of cannon. ‘They’re here already?’
‘Yes—I hardly believed M Vincent when he warned me.’ She shuddered. ‘Our poor France…and now Paris. There was a regiment of cuirassiers yesterday: I saw them march through the town in their white cloaks, the music playing… They were back from Spain, on their way to the front. I saw some of them again this morning, clamouring at the barriers, their white cloaks stained with blood, their horses wounded too… The boulevards are crowded with peasants, with their cows and sheep and their poor little bundles of belongings. I was afraid for a minute they were going to mob the carriage…it’s almost like the bad old days all over again… And yet, there were women walking in the Jardin des Plantes, dressed in their best, as if it was a day like any other day. And to think I have prayed, all winter, that the Allies would march on Paris and free us from Napoleon. Only—I had not understood it would be like this.’
‘Where is Napoleon?’
‘Nobody knows. There is no news. We do not even know what the Empress is planning to do, nor the Court as a whole. But there is a rumour that the courtyards of the Tuileries are full of wagons.’
‘They will flee, you think?’
‘I hope so. I could almost be sorry for the Empress, stiff and proud though she’s always been, and the poor little King of Rome. There are all kinds of rumours going about; nobody believes the Moniteur anymore. Do you know, just the other day, they held a solemn parade in the Empress’s presence and handed over the Russian flags and swords won at Montmirail. But the couriers from the front show no signs of travel—a little dust would be more convincing.’
‘You think it’s all over?’
‘All over but the tears. But here’s your breakfast. Eat well and try not to worry. M Vincent has made admirable plans for our safety when Paris falls. We have been getting in provisions all day. He says at the last moment we must draw up a hay wagon to block the gate, close all the front shutters and make the house look empty. The looters are always in such a hurry, he says, that the slightest obstacle will stop them… But oh, my poor Paris. If I had known it would be like this…’
Sonia comforted her as best she could, her nerves all the time on the stretch for sounds of Vincent’s return. The day dragged out endlessly, full of polite, desperate conversation. It was late in the afternoon when Charles appeared at last, and then he looked exhausted, almost desperate, Sonia thought. His eyes were dark-circled, the skin of his face drawn so tight over the bones that new lines were etched around the corners of his mouth. But his tired eyes lit up at sight of her. ‘Sonia, you’re none the worse?’
‘Not the least in the world. But you look worn out, Charles. What’s happening? What’s the matter?’
‘What’s happening?’ His voice was bitter. ‘Talk
—and more talk; and the Allies getting nearer every moment. You’ve laid in your provisions, madame?’
‘Yes.’ Mme de Morne also looked worn out. ‘Flour, rice, hams—we should be able to stand several days’ siege. Should we put out the fires?’
‘No, not yet. Wait till you can hear the sounds of musket fire as well as the guns. Then you will know it is time. But—how could I forget! Sonia, how is Elizabeth?’
‘Sleeping much more peacefully. You were right to bring her, Charles. I hope—’
‘So do I. But if there is safety anywhere, it will be here.’
‘Safety!’ Mme de Morne’s voice was almost a shriek. ‘If I had only known it would be like this.’
‘But think, madame, under Napoleon, no one was safe. Ever.’
‘You speak as if his reign was over.’
‘I think it is.’
And indeed the first news they had next morning was that the Empress and the Imperial Government had fled in the night. ‘So much the better,’ said Vincent. ‘Now it will be possible to make peace and save Paris.’
‘Do you really think so?’ asked Mme de Morne eagerly.
‘I’m sure of it. Talleyrand has not left with the Government. He arranged to be stopped at the barriers for lack of papers, and is back at his house again. Bear up, madame, it is only a matter of time now.’
‘Time.’ She shuddered. ‘And French blood flowing all the time.’
‘Not only French blood, madame.’ Sonia gave way to sudden irritation. ‘Germans and Russians are dying out there too, and the war is none of their starting.’ She caught Vincent’s furious eye upon her, blushed and began an apology, but Mme de Morne interrupted her.
‘You’re quite right,’ she said. ‘It is I who should apologise to you. But to see Paris like this… The boulevards are thronged with the wounded this morning, with fine ladies in their feathers walking among them as if it were some kind of a peepshow. Good God! What’s that?’
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