Children of the Siege

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘Monsieur!’ came the urgent cry. ‘Don’t shoot! It’s me! Pierre!’

  Emile lowered the pistol, demanding, ‘What are you doing here, Pierre? You should be in St Etienne with Madame and the children.’

  ‘Madame has returned with me—’ began Pierre.

  But Emile interrupted, crying, ‘Here? I expressly said she was to stay there, in St Etienne.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t!’ Rosalie had followed Pierre into the house and speaking from behind him in the darkness of the passageway, she startled both men.

  ‘Rosalie!’ Emile stepped forward, taking both her hands in his. ‘You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe for you here. I told Pierre you were to stay.’

  ‘And Pierre told me!’ returned his wife. ‘Don’t blame him. He couldn’t stop me coming.’

  Wishing to leave his employers to themselves, Pierre said, ‘Shall I light a lamp, monsieur?’

  ‘No,’ Emile said firmly. ‘I want the house to remain in darkness. If they come back, they’ll think it’s deserted and I’ll be ready for them. I’ll call you if we need you.’ And thus dismissed, Pierre withdrew gratefully to his stable loft.

  Immediately he had disappeared, Rosalie rounded on her husband.

  ‘How could you?’ she demanded fiercely. ‘How could you let someone take her?’

  ‘Rosalie, be reasonable,’ protested Emile. ‘I wasn’t here when—’

  ‘No!’ interrupted his wife. ‘No, you weren’t here, where you should have been. No—’ she corrected herself, ‘No, no one should have been here! We should never have come back to Paris in the first place! We were all perfectly safe in St Etienne. The war was over, the armistice was signed, but Paris was still a dangerous place to be. You knew that! You should never have brought us back.’

  ‘You’re right,’ snapped Emile. ‘The war was over, the armistice was signed. I needed to be back here to salvage what I could of my business. Without it we have no income. No money, Rosalie!’

  ‘But you didn’t have to bring the whole family back!’ cried Rosalie, her voice breaking on a sob. ‘Your little girls!’

  Emile’s shoulders slumped. He knew she was right. If he had needed to come to Paris, he should have come alone.

  ‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘I know that now.’

  ‘Pierre says you went to your office that morning.’

  ‘I had to—’

  ‘No, Emile! If you’d set out at once, we’d all be safely in St Etienne. You’ve lost my daughter.’

  ‘She’s my daughter, too.’

  ‘And Marie-Jeanne, what about her?’ cried Rosalie, ignoring his reply. ‘If you’d left first thing, Hélène would be safe and Marie-Jeanne’d still be alive.’

  For the first time her tears began to flow and once started they wouldn’t stop. Emile, his expression one of despair, moved to take her in his arms, but she pushed him away.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’

  There was no food in the house so they went to their separate beds hungry, but before they went upstairs, Emile checked that the coach gate was firmly bolted, and he and Pierre dragged the heavy bookcase that stood in the hall across the front door.

  None of them slept well that night and in the cold light of morning things looked as bleak as before; neither of Hélène’s parents knew what to do next. Pierre had gone out for provisions, so at least they had food in the house, but apart from pretending to eat the bread and cheese he had brought, and drinking coffee, they could only sit and look at each other.

  Further recriminations were pointless and there was an uneasy truce between them. Hélène had disappeared, carried off by the intruders, but there had been no ransom note demanding money, giving instructions for her return. Nothing to give them any hope that she might still be alive.

  It was afternoon when there was a loud knocking on the back gate and Pierre, demanding to know who was there, heard a soft voice reply, ‘It’s me, Georges! Quickly! Let me in.’

  Pierre unlocked the gate and Georges slipped inside. He was not in uniform but as before, dressed as a common workman, with a hat pulled low, shading his face.

  ‘Thank God you’ve come, Lieutenant,’ said Pierre, as he bolted the door behind him.

  ‘Come to see my father,’ was all Georges said, before hurrying into the house.

  His parents heard his voice and Emile stepped into the hall to meet him. He knew a moment of intense relief as he grasped his son by the hand and echoed Pierre. ‘Georges! Thank God you’ve come.’

  ‘I had an odd message saying that you needed me,’ Georges said, adding as he looked round the hall and saw the barricaded front door, ‘What on earth has happened here, Papa?’ At that moment Rosalie emerged from the drawing room. Georges stared at her in dismay. ‘Maman! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in St Etienne?’

  ‘Come in and sit down,’ said his father, ‘and we’ll tell you everything.’

  Georges listened in horrified silence to the happenings of the past few days. His beloved sister kidnapped. Marie-Jeanne dead. When Emile finally said, ‘So we don’t know what to do. What do we do, Georges? We don’t know how to begin to find her.’

  ‘Well, there’s no point in you staying here,’ Georges said bluntly. ‘I told you before, things are only going to get worse. You should leave at once and go back to St Etienne. There’s nothing you can do here and I have to warn you… though I really shouldn’t… that it won’t be long before Paris is besieged again.’

  Emile looked startled. ‘Besieged?’

  ‘Papa, you have no idea what’s happening, have you?’ Georges spoke in frustration. ‘The National Guard have taken over Paris. The army is going to take it back. It’s civil war! It won’t be long before you can’t get in or out of the city again. You must take Maman to safety…’ he paused, holding his father’s gaze as he added, ‘before you lose her, too!’

  ‘Georges!’ cried his mother.

  ‘I’m warning you now, Maman,’ Georges said. ‘Another siege is coming and if you don’t leave for the country at once, you’ll find yourself trapped here. You need to be with the girls in St Etienne, and you, Papa,’ he turned to his father, ‘you need to be with Maman.’

  ‘But Georges—’ began his mother.

  ‘No buts, Maman,’ insisted Georges. ‘You must go today, now, if you’re to travel in safety. Clarice and Louise need you.’

  ‘But what about Hélène? She needs us too.’

  ‘So she may,’ Georges replied, ‘but at present you don’t know where she is and you can’t help her.’ He softened his tone a little and went on, ‘I will do all I can to find her, Maman, but looking for a small girl in the turmoil around us now is like looking for a needle in a field of haystacks.’ He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘But I do have contacts and I will see what I can learn from them.’

  ‘Contacts? Who are these contacts?’ demanded Emile. ‘We heard you were seconded to General Vinoy.’

  ‘And so I am,’ agreed Georges shortly. ‘Indeed, I shouldn’t be here as I’m on his business now. All I can do is to beg you… no, to tell you… to leave Paris at once. If you don’t, your other children may lose you, too.’

  He got to his feet and walked into the hall. ‘That wouldn’t keep anyone out who was determined to get in,’ he remarked, waving a hand at the barricaded door. ‘You’re not safe here. For God’s sake, do as I ask you, Papa.’

  When he had sloped off down the street, passing the house without a backward glance, his parents looked at each other in despair.

  ‘What do we do?’ Emile was at a loss and looked to his wife for a lead.

  ‘We should go,’ Rosalie said. ‘Clarice and Louise need us. Both of us. We should go to the station and catch the first train out.’

  ‘And Hélène?’

  ‘Hélène?’ Rosalie blinked hard to combat her tears. ‘Georges is right. We can do nothing waiting here to be trapped in the city. We must trust to him and his contacts, whoever they are.’
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br />   ‘We will go,’ Emile said, ‘but we’ll go in the chaise. We still have the horse and Pierre can drive us.’

  ‘It’ll be quicker by train,’ objected Rosalie. ‘If we use the chaise we’ll have to stop for at least one night on the way.’

  ‘Does that matter, Rosalie?’ countered Emile. ‘We’ll have the chaise in the country, and you can travel in far more comfort. You know you don’t like trains.’

  Rosalie had to admit that he was right there, she didn’t like trains, but at least they travelled far faster than a one-horse chaise. She was anxious to get back to St Etienne now; she needed to be with Clarice and Louise. Once back home in the country, she vowed she would never let them out of her sight. If Georges was right, they might get trapped in Paris and not get home for months. If it meant that they could leave the city straight away, then by all means, let Pierre drive them in the chaise.

  ‘If we can get out of the city before the gates close,’ Emile explained, ‘we can find an inn for the night and travel on first thing in the morning; we should reach St Etienne well before dark tomorrow.’

  The decision was made and they prepared to leave. Emile and Pierre set to work securing the front door, nailing planks of wood across the frame while Rosalie packed up the remains of the food Pierre had bought that morning to take with them on the journey. Pierre harnessed the horse and brought the chaise out into the street. Emile closed and locked the porte cochère behind them and as afternoon slipped into evening, they drove away, leaving the house empty and silent.

  18

  When Agathe and Hélène returned to the kitchen, Agathe gave Hélène some linen to fold and the repetitive action seemed to soothe her. She sat at the table smoothing napkins and pillowcases, folding towels, setting the corners exactly together, her face a mask of concentration.

  Once she glanced up at the airer, suspended from the ceiling where her clothes, washed by Agathe the night before, had been hung up to dry.

  Agathe caught the look and said, ‘They’ll be dry by tomorrow, and then you can go home.’

  As they did the various chores about the kitchen and in the house, Agathe chatted to her in the hope of eliciting a little more information. Once, Father Thomas appeared in the kitchen, and as he came through the door to tell Madame Sauze that he wouldn’t be in for dinner, Hélène shrank back into the corner. He ignored her entirely and having said his piece, disappeared, and Agathe could feel the relaxation in the child.

  After the midday meal which they’d eaten together at the kitchen table, she sent Hélène upstairs to her room to rest and took the chance to slip back into the study to speak again with the priest.

  ‘She has told me nothing more yet, but she is more relaxed when we are alone together. I will try and find out where she lives as the day goes on. She let slip that she has a brother, but that brings us no closer to knowing who she is.’

  ‘Well, she did give us her full name,’ Father Lenoir reminded her.

  ‘I know, but then something made her stop. Do you really think her father killed this Marie-Jeanne?’

  The priest shook his head. ‘How can we tell, Agathe? I think she is a little mad. Can we believe any of it?’

  ‘You can believe she’s afraid of men,’ said Agathe sombrely. ‘I’ve seen the bruises.’

  It was as they were preparing the evening meal that Hélène finally named the street where she lived. The Avenue Ste Anne. It was only said in passing, and Agathe had appeared not to have noticed it, but it was with great relief that she was able to tell Father Lenoir where Hélène came from.

  ‘If we can believe her,’ said the priest. ‘If not, we can’t keep the child here, she’ll have to go to the sisters.’

  ‘The orphanage?’ Agathe was dismayed. The orphanage, run by the Sisters of St Luke, was a forbidding building two streets away in the Place Armand. It was home to ‘Children of Shame’, illegitimate babies left on its doorstep, or children left orphaned with nowhere to go. Surely Hélène didn’t belong there.

  ‘Suppose I go to this Avenue Ste Anne and see if I can find her family?’ Agathe suggested. ‘Perhaps her mother will be there and can come and fetch her.’

  Father Lenoir shrugged. ‘I suppose you could,’ he said, ‘but should we be sending her back to a home where you say she has been so abused? Wouldn’t she be safer at St Luke’s?’

  Agathe Sauze, who had seen the misery on the faces of the orphans as they were brought to Mass every Sunday, didn’t think so. No. It might be a place of safety from the world beyond its high walls, but it was not a happy place. She shook her head.

  ‘I would hate to see her go in there,’ she said. ‘Please allow me, Father, to visit the Avenue Ste Anne first and see what I can discover.’

  The old priest sighed and washing his hands of the whole thing, said, ‘Agathe, you must do as you think best.’

  The relief Agathe felt was enormous and she said, ‘I’ll go there this evening. Her family must be frantic with worry about her, and if they do live there, they’ll surely be home in the evening.’

  When she had fed the household, Agathe took Hélène up to her room. ‘I have to go out, child,’ she said. ‘Can you read?’

  Hélène looked a little startled and replied, ‘Of course I can, madame. I’m not a baby.’

  ‘Then I will bring you a Bible and you can read that while I am away. No one will trouble you. Father Lenoir is in his study and Father Thomas is at a meeting.’

  Ten minutes later the housekeeper left the house and set out for the Avenue Ste Anne. She and Father Lenoir had consulted a map and discovered there was such a street in the Passy district and she decided to start her quest there. She hoped and prayed that she could find the family and that it was a loving one, not one where the father abused the child and the mother allowed it to happen.

  She was able to travel by omnibus for much of the way, and as its horses pulled it steadily through the city, she stared out of the window at the bustle and the busyness in the streets beyond. How easily a child of Hélène’s age could become lost, disorientated in such crowded streets, Agathe thought. How easily she might fall prey to someone of evil intent. She thought of the child’s bruises and shuddered.

  She alighted from the omnibus and walked the final mile to the Avenue Ste Anne. The evening sun was low in the sky as she paused at last on the corner. The road was tranquil compared with the streets through which she’d just passed. There were few people about, a man riding away on a horse, a couple entering a house further down, a chaise coming towards her, clattering over the cobbles, causing her to step aside from its flurry of dust. As she looked along the avenue’s gently curving length, she was dismayed. Surely Hélène couldn’t come from such a prosperous area. How was it possible that a child from such a place should be lost, injured and hungry? How had she come to be allowed out on her own? Surely a maid, a governess or an attendant of some sort would accompany her if she left the house without her parents. Slowly Agathe Sauze walked the length of the avenue. Almost all the houses were closed and shuttered, their owners having made discreet exits from the city as the National Guard had taken control. It crossed her mind that Hélène might somehow have become separated from the rest of her family in the flurry of a hasty departure, but surely they would have come straight back to find her. The whole thing was a mystery; none of what she knew made sense.

  She walked the length of the avenue, wondering which of the houses belonged to the St Clairs, and finally decided to knock at one of the few occupied houses and ask. She took her courage in both hands and approached an imposing double-fronted house that had light gleaming through the fanlight above the front door. Her knock was answered by a maid in a black dress uniform, a spotless white apron and a starched white cap.

  Agathe explained that she was looking for the home of the St Clair family which she believed was in this street. ‘Can you direct me to their house?’ she asked.

  ‘The St Clairs?’ replied the maid. ‘Oh yes, they live at nu
mber thirty-four, but you won’t find them there now. They’ve left Paris and the house is closed up.’ Lowering her voice she added confidentially, ‘Not surprising though, after what happened there, and poor Marie-Jeanne…’

  ‘Mathilde!’ A sharp voice came from inside the house. ‘Who are you gossiping with at my front door? Close the door at once.’

  ‘Do you know where they have gone?’ Madame Sauze asked quickly.

  The girl shook her head and with a quick glance over her shoulder whispered, ‘But I saw them leave this evening.’

  ‘Mathilde!’

  Mathilde gave her a regretful smile and hurriedly closed the door.

  Agathe turned away from the house, despair in her heart. They’d left this evening. She had missed them. She should have come the moment she knew the name of the street.

  Still, she thought wearily, at least I know I’m in the right place.

  The maid had told her which house and now she set off to find it. The family might have just left, but perhaps there was a housekeeper or some other servant still there, who would know where they had gone.

  The house stood further along, on the opposite side of the road, and was similar to the one she’d approached, but it stood in silent darkness. No glimmer of light shone from its windows, but even so Agathe stepped up to the front door to pull on the bell. As she did so, she saw that the door was damaged, wedged into its frame, a sturdy piece of wood nailed across it. What had the maid Mathilde said? Something had happened? Well, clearly something had. Someone had broken in here. And she’d mentioned ‘poor Marie-Jeanne’. Who was Marie-Jeanne, and what had happened to her? Hélène had said she had been shot by… someone. Was that really true? At least it seemed Marie-Jeanne was – or had been – a real person.

  There was no reply to her ring, but by now she didn’t expect one. She had done all she could, and with a heavy heart Agathe walked to the omnibus and made her way slowly back to the Clergy House; she had been too late.

  ‘The trouble is,’ she said when she was back in Father Lenoir’s study, ‘the maid didn’t have time to tell me what had happened to this Marie-Jeanne. All I discovered was that the family had left this evening and the house was empty.’ She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘But why would they leave, with Hélène still missing?’