On September eighteenth, Quebec City surrendered to the British, and the government of New France moved to Montreal.
The nuns, however, went about their daily prayers and chores and tried to keep their spirits up. That goal had become increasingly more difficult and was made no easier when General Montcalm’s body was laid to rest in a bomb crater under the chapel’s altar. With each passing day, Catherine’s worries grew and, whenever possible, she questioned the returning soldiers about Rive. However, none brought any news of him.
Then, just after breakfast—one late September morning when the clouds gave way to a pallid sun—Mother Superior came to Catherine, who was on her knees in the chapel. Part of the roof had collapsed, carving out a gaping hole above the altar, but the rear of the structure had been deemed safe now that the fierce bombardments had ceased.
“Madame St. Clair, you have a visitor.”
Catherine jumped to her feet. “Is it Rive?” She was already dashing out of the chapel when the nun’s next words stopped her.
“I am sorry to say it is not your husband. I believe this man might bring news of him. I have asked him to wait in the visitors’ room.”
Catherine rushed down the corridor. Pulling open the appropriate door, she entered the room with such haste she nearly collided with Louis Villet.
For a moment, she could not find her breath. Then she felt a terrible pain in the pit of her stomach. She remembered Rive’s caution: in the event he was unable to return to rescue her, Louis would assume that duty. She bit her lower lip and fought for the courage to accept whatever news he brought. At least seeing her husband’s good friend, a man of whom she had grown fond, brought a measure of joy.
“Louis, you are unharmed.” She reached for his hands and would have thrown her arms about him, except she sensed that such a gesture would embarrass him. She stepped back and managed a wan smile. “Please tell me Rive has had the same good fortune.”
A wooden bench sat against one wall, and Louis led her to it. He waited until they were seated before answering her query. “Rive is alive, Madame. He is a prisoner in the Dauphine Redoubt, a military installation. We have spies about, but they have been unable to learn much about the men held there. Only that Rive ...”
Catherine feared his next words would not be as heartening as his earlier declaration that Rive was still alive.
“What is it, Louis? Tell me, please.”
“He has been accused of spying. He was recognized as the man who impersonated a British soldier and called a warning to the French sentries atop the cliffs. It was a miracle he was not shot at the very moment he shouted the warning. I suppose they could not risk it, if they were to keep the element of surprise. Rive was imprisoned and, I am sorry to say, condemned to pay the ultimate penalty. A warning, no doubt, to others who might think to pursue the same course as long as fighting continues. The battle has moved to Montreal, but the city is undermanned and not expected to hold out for long.”
Catherine’s hands had clenched the moment Louis divulged the accusation against Rive. If they had found it dangerous to shoot him dead as he warned his countrymen, they no longer had cause for delay. When she broached the subject with Louis, he did not deny it.
“The verdict has been posted outside all of the British installations and in parts of the city, as well. The execution will take place in two days.”
She jumped to her feet and pressed her hands to her cheeks. Tears sprang into her eyes and she brushed them away, loathe to show weakness in the face of her husband’s bravery.
“Can we do nothing? Can we not send an appeal to the British? They have been victorious. What do they need with one more death? What can it serve them?”
Louis stood and walked to the window facing the road. He gazed outside for a moment before turning back.
“Although we believed it useless, upon learning the news, we petitioned General Murray, who has been installed as Governor of Quebec, to spare Rive’s life. Unfortunately, we have heard nothing in response and must assume the request was denied. Do not lose heart. We have put together a plan. We feel it has a good chance of success.”
“A plan ...” She breathed a hopeful sigh.
“There will be some danger involved and can only be implemented with your help.”
“Anything. I will do anything. Just tell me what you wish of me.”
He brought her back to the bench. When they were once again seated, he withdrew a folded paper from inside his shirt. He opened it and handed it to Catherine.
It appeared to be an official document and contained three names: Jacques Gillard, Madame Catherine Gillard and Brigadier General James Murray.
“It is a pass,” Louis said, “entitling the wife of the prisoner, Gillard, to a visit with her husband. It is an excellent forgery since we were unable to secure a pass honestly. With this in hand, it is possible the guards at the entrance will not question your having been granted entrance to the redoubt. The pass bears today’s date. If we are correct, and it is forbidden for Gillard to have a visitor, it will appear that order had been rescinded.”
“This prisoner is Rive?”
“Indeed, Madame. From the start, before he volunteered to infiltrate the enemy camp, he adopted the name Gillard in the event of his capture.”
They sat quietly, while Catherine digested this latest information. “I can assure you I shall be most persuasive in convincing the guards I have been granted the privilege of visiting my husband. How may I assist, once I am inside the redoubt?”
Again, Louis reached under his shirt. This time he withdrew a metal file of perhaps five inches in length and sharpened to a point.
“This implement must be smuggled in to Rive. It can be done only by you, since you will not be searched.”
Catherine glanced down at the stomacher secured by hooks to her gown. She would secrete the file beneath the stiff backing under the outer silk covering. She suggested this to Louis and he agreed.
“Once you are inside, it is vital you remember every detail: the number of soldiers who occupy the fortification, where they are stationed and most important, exactly where they are holding Rive. We do not know if you will be allowed to see him privately in his cell, or if a guard will be present. No matter, you must pass him this file.”
Catherine nodded. “Do not worry. I will draw close enough to him, and no guard will stop me.”
Louis’ face creased into a tiny smile. “I am certain you will.” His demeanor became serious once again. “Also, you must tell him that during the night, when most of the soldiers are asleep, an explosion will tear an opening into the wall farthest from his cell. He will have no trouble hearing it, and it will be powerful enough to draw the soldiers. At exactly that moment, Rive must pick the lock to his cell door.”
Catherine’s brow puckered. “Will he have enough time before the soldiers return?”
Louis gave a small muffled laugh. “He will do it in less than ten seconds.”
“What if the one guarding him stays at his post?”
“Even better, for in no time he will find himself a prisoner and stripped of his uniform. Do you understand?”
“Oh, yes. I shall play my part perfectly.”
“Tell him that a second explosion at the rear of the installation will follow exactly thirty seconds after the first. With luck, the additional commotion will leave the front unguarded. In any event, if soldiers remain on guard, we have men nearby to overpower them. Once outside, Rive must head to the woods west of the building, where we will be waiting for him.” He handed her the file.
“This afternoon at three o’clock, Baptiste, whom you have met, will arrive here with a carriage. He will take you to the redoubt and wait until you have been admitted. Then he will station himself a short distance away so that he can observe you when you leave and bring the carriage around. You will give him all the information you have gathered concerning the soldiers and Rive’s location, which he will pass on to me. There is a house ne
ar the Place Royal that has sustained some damage, but not enough to render it uninhabitable. Baptiste will deliver you there. God willing, Rive will join you once he is free.”
Catherine reached for Louis’ hands and held onto them for a long moment. She wished she could throw her arms about him but once again practiced restraint. Instead, she thanked him and walked with him to the front door.
“Au revoir, Madame. We shall meet again in just a few hours.” He turned and hurried down the path.
Catherine stood in the open doorway until she could no longer see him. Then she closed the door and returned to the chapel. She sank down, for once unmindful of the discomfort of the hard kneeler. Everything Louis had imparted swirled in her head. What if the guard did not allow her to visit Rive? Or worse, searched her and discovered the file? The pass bore Rive’s assumed name. They would know a plot was afoot. Would it hasten his execution? She pushed that thought from her mind, along with the possibility of danger to herself. She must not falter. She must believe the plan would succeed. She and Rive would sail as planned to Paris and then to London for a reunion with her parents.
She clenched her jaw in resolve then bowed her head and prayed.
At exactly three o’clock, Baptiste arrived at the convent. Keeping close watch at the window, Catherine, as nervous as a cat tied up in a sack, was ready to leave with him. She had already said goodbye to Mother Superior and the other nuns and thanked them for their many kindnesses. For their own safety, she kept her mission secret. With Rive’s earlier written instructions and the money he’d given her tucked into her pocket, she climbed into the carriage and prayed for the fortitude to implement the plan to free him.
Few people or conveyances were abroad, giving the carriage a clear path. She commented on this to Baptiste.
“The inhabitants who have taken the Oath of Allegiance have been permitted to keep possession of their estates. Perhaps they felt it wise to stay home and guard against any intrusions.”
“I suppose.” Her mind was not on the estates of the wealthy seigneurs but consumed with her mission to facilitate Rive’s escape.
They rode on in silence. At the corner of a wide intersection, Baptiste drew up the horses and climbed down from his perch.
“Look, Madame, there is the Dauphine Redoubt.”
Catherine gazed out of the carriage’s window opening at a tall, very imposing building. It was set into a wide expanse of lawn that sloped down to thick woods on either side. Impressive in length and depth, it rose up four stories and had a pitched roof from which sprouted a goodly number of chimneys. Jutting from one side were several tall, narrow, windowless extensions. Could Rive be held in one of those?
“I will bring the carriage to the front. There will be a soldier, perhaps two, on guard duty there. You must show him your pass. If he does not question it, there is a good chance it will raise no suspicion from the men inside.”
He climbed back onto the driver’s seat, flicked the reins and the horse trotted on. The redoubt was situated well back from the road. When they reached the front, Baptiste stopped the carriage, stepped down and opened the door. He pointed to a spot nearby. “I will keep watch from over there. When I see you exit, I will come at once to fetch you. I wish you good luck, Madame.”
She exited the coach and walked with determination down the path. A large wooden door had been pulled open to accommodate a wide entry. A soldier, shouldering a rifle and wearing a scarlet coat with a black collar and cuffs, stood guard. He looked neither young nor old, just weary. Showing not the least hesitation, she approached him.
“Bonjour. Good day.” She proffered her pass. “I speak some English. Un peu ... only a little, but ...” If she had to cajole her way past this soldier, it would have to be accomplished in his language. She prayed he did not speak French.
The guard glanced from her to the pass and back to her again. His brow puckered as if he were judging her right to be there.
“The prisoner, Gillard, does not have visitors.” His tone confirmed his uncertainty.
At this first obstacle, she took a deep breath and gazed up into his eyes. “Oh? But you see here the pass. It says I am allowed to visit with him. Yes?” With a delicate finger, she tapped the paper and produced a tremulous smile. “I am his wife.”
The guard took a deep breath and exhaled noisily through his teeth. “I do not know. I thought—”
“Do you have a wife, Monsieur?” Her eyes misted, and it did not take much for her to call upon a sudden spate of tears.
“Yes, I do, Missus. Back in England she is.”
“I suppose you miss her very much.” She hoped the man had been on good terms with the woman and had not joined the army to escape from her.
He nodded and his expression turned wistful. “Aye, it’s been two years since I last laid eyes on her.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Catherine dabbed at her tears. “If the situation were for you the same as for my husband ... and you faced death, would you not wish to see her one last time to give her your fondest regards?”
“Aye, for sure I would wish that.”
“I ask nothing more, Monsieur, only a few scant minutes with my husband.” She clasped her hands against her breast as if in prayer. “The general, the new governor of Quebec, understood. That is why he issued the pass. See, he has signed it.”
Once again, the guard studied the paper. “It seems to be in order.”
“Oui.” Catherine called upon fresh tears.
“Now, now, don’t get all upset. I do not see where a few minutes can do any harm.” He handed back the pass. Then he leaned into the doorway and shouted, “Williams, get over here.”
A soldier, who looked barely old enough to fight in a war, appeared in seconds.
“Take this lady down to the prisoner, Gillard. She’s his wife. Tell the guard on his door she’s allowed a few minutes with him. You stay right there. When time’s up, bring her back here.”
“Merci. Thank you.” Catherine smiled at him. “I shall pray for your swift return to your wife.”
As she turned into the doorway, Williams said, “This way, Missus. Watch your step.”
Catherine followed him into the building and down a central corridor. Opened doors exposed small rooms occupied by perhaps two dozen soldiers. Some of the men sat at desks or tables where missives of a sort—dispatches perhaps—had collected. Others milled about and conversed in low tones. Perhaps they were bored. With their boredom might come carelessness. In the middle of the night, their lack of attention might work in Rive’s favor.
“Careful, here,” Williams admonished. “The steps are plenty dark.”
Indeed, he spoke the truth. The only light issued from a pair of lanterns that hung from the ceiling. Also, the steps were steep and much worn. When they reached the bottom, Catherine had counted fifteen of them.
In the lower corridors, lanterns sat in niches carved into the thick walls. They threw off muted light, barely enough for her to see by. Since it was dark and dank, she assumed they were in a cellar. Happily, she spotted no other soldiers. Then they turned down another corridor where a red-jacketed guard sat across from a wooden door. He possessed a large frame, burdened with an over-abundance of girth. His musket leaned against the wall alongside his stool.
“Eh, who’s this?” He hoisted himself to his feet.
“The prisoner’s wife. She has permission to see her husband.”
The guard took the pass and held it toward a dim slash of light. He studied it for a few moments and handed it back. “Got the general’s signature, all right.” He plucked a round metal ring from an iron nail driven into the wall and inserted the single key it held into the door lock. He gave it a turn and pushed open the door.
The tiniest bit of illumination escaped from the single lantern within to light a small room, containing a wooden bench and not much else. Straw covered most of the hard-packed dirt floor. Wasting not a moment, Catherine hurried into the cell. Seeing her, Rive went di
rectly to her.
“Catherine ... what?” His expression was one of incredulity.
She placed her fingers lightly over his lips. “Shh,” she whispered. The door remained open, and she felt very keenly the presence of the two men who stood just outside. Then she removed her hand and placed it against his nape and leaned into him. When he took her in his arms and kissed her, she could not have cared if the entire British force looked on. Still, she dared not allow the contact to last beyond a few seconds.
“Oh, my love,” she whispered against his ear. “There is little time. Listen carefully.” In a quiet rush of words, she outlined the plot formulated by Louis. Then she stepped back, leaving only a few scant inches between them. With her back to the guard and Rive’s arms around her, she slipped her fingers beneath the stomacher and brought the file it concealed partway up from its nesting place. With his free hand, Rive carefully slid it the remainder of the way. In seconds, it was hidden under his shirt.
“Oh, my beautiful brave wife. You have put yourself in danger.”
“No more so than you, my loving reckless husband.” Her words were spoken so softly, she could not be certain he even heard her. “I only did what any devoted wife would do to avoid becoming a grieving widow. I had to risk it.”
“You could have been arrested.”
“And soon released. I am of no consequence.” In truth she did not believe the enemy would be so kind.
He gave her a dazzling smile. “Ah, my wife is now a military tactician. Will my good luck never cease?”
“Too often you have done your best to end it. In the future, I would have years and years of quiet living with you. I shall brook no arguments.”
“Ah, still you would have the last word.”
She brought her lips very close to his ear. “That is only for the moment. However, I’m sure once we are together again—”
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