By now the dozing Henry was fully awake and fretful, as was his older sister. But a magnificent hot soup was conjured up out of nothing and everyone ate of it round a scrubbed white circular kitchen table, and drank comforting red wine. Even the children had a glass or two.
Demelza longed for port, but she drank as much wine as she could to dull the pain of the flight and her worries for Ross. And presently she was dozing off, with Jodie in one bed and Mrs Kemp in the far one and Bella next to her and Harry curled up in a warm ball beside her.
The messenger arrived at seven, having spent an hour searching for them at the other inns. Jodie read the letter he brought.
‘The King has got away,’ she said. ‘He left three hours after we did. He is making for Arras. Then Lille. Some of his ministers remain in Paris. We are directed to make also for the Belgian frontier.’
‘But that is not England!’ cried Demelza. ‘I told Ross we were going direct to England!’
Jodie looked haggard in the morning light; it was as if years of tension were catching up with her. ‘I am so sorry. I did not know when we leave. I am not altogether my own mistress in this matter. I thought we should make directly for Calais until Sieur Menieres joined us. But it will only be a delay of a day or two. And do you not have a son in Brussels?’
Demelza’s knowledge of the relative positions of these French and Belgian towns was not detailed. ‘Is that near Lille? I would like to see Jeremy, but the most important thing is that I should be able to get in touch with Ross and he with me. Maybe I could get a coach from Lille to Calais?’
‘Let us first see to our present movements.’ Mlle de la Blache screwed up her eyes to peer out at the grey daylight. ‘I think the rain has stopped. We are much too near Paris as yet. This letter also warns me that some of Bonaparte’s Polish lancers are abroad north and east of Paris. I do not know if they have orders to cut off the King, but it would be bad for us if we were stopped by them. Particularly is it important that M Menieres should not fall into their hands.’
Demelza looked at her two children who were still sleeping. Mrs Kemp had gone downstairs to see if she could find hot water for washing.
‘Who is he?’ she asked. ‘Who is this – this what do you call him – Sieur Menieres?’
Jodie put a hand through her hair. ‘He is a lawyer, my dear. Sieur is a legal term. But also – and I suppose you may as well know this since you have been in my confidence in all else – but also he is the King’s jeweller.’
Demelza began to fasten her bodice. It was cold in the room; a draught blew under the door, and the windows, though closed, let in the chill air. ‘That box he carries and tends so carefully? Is that of special value?’
Jodie sighed. ‘It contains most of the crown jewels.’
Chapter Fifteen
I
Ross arrived at Sens at six o’clock on Friday evening, and slept at the inn there. Sens is less than a hundred and twenty kilometres from Paris. This distance took him thirty-two hours to travel.
The heavy rains had turned the roads into a sea of mud; there was an army of twenty thousand men gathered at Melun to bar the progress of the Emperor Napoleon; the countryside was in a state of extreme unrest, undecided how to declare its allegiances; and the diligence broke an axle ten kilometres outside Sens, far, it seemed, from any sort of help or repair. The rain beat down relentlessly.
Everyone waited patiently for two hours, while the coachmen went in search of a replacement axle. One of the coachmen came back to say they had gone as far as Bray and help was promised within the hour. In the meantime they had found a farm only a mile down the road where rest and refreshment could be had while they waited. It was a wet and muddy walk and the two ladies, who were both elderly, made slow and sedentary progress. The priest complained incessantly and the third man, a distinguished-looking lawyer called Hassard, helped Ross to help the women. The farmhouse was huge and draughty and in poor repair, but they had bread and cheese and pots of strong steaming coffee and presently a bottle of plum brandy. So morning turned to afternoon and no coach appeared. The ladies dozed in front of the fire and the priest read his breviary. Hassard paced up and down, stroking his thin silvery imperial.
Ross had no knowledge of the urgencies that beset Paris but he knew that yesterday, soon after he left, Bonaparte would have reached Auxerre and presumably been united with Marshal Ney; and, such had been the speed of his advance so far, that one could not rely on his taking time off to admire the cathedral or the abbey of St Germain. The chances were strongly on his spending the night in the camp at Auxerre – recently vacated by intruders like the Englishman Poldark – and that today he would be on the move again. Which meant that – assuming not unreasonably that the axles of his coach would be in a better state to withstand the jolting of the roads – he might by now not be far behind.
In the early afternoon, seeing an old wagon draw up outside the farm, Ross went out to the driver and found that the man was an itinerant pedlar who called this way monthly, offering for sale almost everything: tinder-boxes and metal flints, iron hoops, faggot twigs, skimming pans and sabots, tippets made of rabbit skin, and woollen stockings. His accent was so thick Ross could hardly understand him, but he eventually worked out that the man lived in Melun and hoped to reach there before nightfall. There was just room on the front seat beside the driver, and the hood over the front of the wagon, like a woman’s bonnet, gave protection from the rain. When the wagon left Ross left with it.
A dismal journey and a cold one, for the rain came from the north. From Angleterre, as Joseph ironically pointed out. In taking the lift Ross had known that this would not be a direct journey; other farmhouses had to be serviced; but he hadn’t estimated the length of each visit and the bargaining that went on before the smallest piece of merchandise changed hands. But having accepted this form of travel he had no chance of changing it. What did buoy him up was Joseph’s cautious statement that he could find him somewhere to sleep tonight and that Joseph’s son had a horse he would be prepared to hire out or sell.
Dusk was not far away as they neared Melun, and here the roads were crowded with troops, many of them bivouacked beside the roads, some still plodding through the mud or trying to cook in the shelter of leafless trees; others with horses pulling artillery into position; officers riding up and down, or more often clustered in anxious consultation wherever rising ground gave them a better view of the way ahead. Regimental bands were playing. This was the last line of defence. Tomorrow would decide the battle for the soul of France.
Full dark by the time they reached Joseph’s cottage, where his slovenly wife was not pleased to see a guest. However, Joseph said he had a cousin in the next lane who could provide a meal and a bed, and if he came round in the morning he would find him a horse.
Ross was escorted to a slightly larger cottage where Joseph’s cousin, evil smelling and pock-marked, leered an insincere welcome. But the food was passable and the bed smelt only of mice. Ross dozed throughout the night. His ankle was paining again and he lay with his purse looped under his arm where it could not be detached.
In the morning the rain had stopped. Joseph greeted him with the news that Bonaparte was at Fontainebleau – eighteen kilometres distant – so the battle was imminent. Unfortunately, his son had gone into Nangis yesterday and had not yet returned; so no horse was available. But he could be returning at any moment. This emergency, this crisis, the return of the Emperor, the little corporal, the father of them all – it was to be expected that life should be disorganized. Joseph had fought in the early campaigns, the great, the victorious campaigns of Marengo and Austerlitz, been invalided out, had this comfortable little living in Melun. His work took him away from home just enough not to be under the thumb of his wife – it was not as good as being in the Grande Armée, but it was agreeable.
The son did not return until midday. He was a shabby but good-looking young man, his face hectic with excitement.
‘There is n
o battle! All was prepared, all the artillery at the ready, all the cavalry waiting to charge, and suddenly before them appeared an open carriage, with Bonaparte sitting in it and a small escort of cavalry. And the cavalry dismounted and embraced their old friends in the waiting army, and then it was all Vive Napoleon! Vive Napoleon! The whole army has gone over to him!’
It was an old moth-eaten nag, but it bore Ross towards Paris. Nothing now stood between the Emperor and his capital except a few hours of waiting. Ross knew what he had to do: pick up his wife and children and, as Bonaparte entered Paris by one gate, leave by another. He had discharged his mission as far as he had been able, and it was no fault of his if events had cut his visit short.
It was a pity, for he had been enjoying his time: the stimulus of meeting so many people, most of them French officers, the struggle with the unfamiliar language at which he was every day becoming more adept, the challenge of fresh minds and outlooks, the trips out of Paris and the social life of Paris, they had all suited his restless inquiring nature. And Demelza, he knew, had also been relishing the experience. He enjoyed seeing her admired – especially for her liveliness and freshness and naturalness – by women as well as men. And the new gowns they had bought brought out her charm and good looks. It amused him when people thought her his second wife. And Bella had got over her calf-love affair with Havergal and was learning all the time from her stay. And Mrs Kemp and Henry had come to no harm at all.
A great disappointment not to spend Easter in Paris with the Enyses and Jeremy and Cuby. It would have been a lovely week for them all. But the one-time master of Europe was loose again, and all other plans had to be shelved until he was put back on Elba.
He crossed the Seine and entered Paris from the direction of Charenton. It meant traversing some of the old part of the city, and he noticed how quiet it was for a Monday afternoon. Shops were shuttered but cafés were crowded. Already a few tricolour flags were out; in several places he saw tradesmen taking down the royal signs and putting up the bees and eagles of the Empire. In the squares men stood on tables haranguing the people who passed by. A group of workmen were sitting on benches chanting ‘Vive l’Empereur’.
Demelza must be worried by his late return, and though he had eaten nothing since breakfast he pressed on and reached the rue de la Ville l’Evêque at four. He looped the reins of his tired horse over a hitching post and went up the stairs three at a time. The door of the apartment was locked and no one came in answer to his knocking. Half irritably, half anxiously, he fumbled his key out of his purse and let himself in.
The windows were shuttered and no fires burned. He saw the notice.
Downstairs. ‘Sorry, my friend,’ he said to the old horse grimly. ‘A few streets more.’
The tall outer doors of the Embassy leading to the courtyard were shut and bolted and looked as if they could repel all strangers; but after he had dismounted he detected a movement in a curtain at an upper window above the stables. He was not in a mood for the delicate approach and presently, in answer to his vigorous pealing of the bell, one of the doors was reluctantly opened. The guard led him across to the front door of the Embassy and an under-secretary let him in. He read Demelza’s letter while he was taking some soup and a glass of wine, and Fitzroy Somerset stood, back to fire, watching him.
‘I advised her to go. Everyone advised her to go. The attitude of Bonaparte to aliens, particularly to the English, is unpredictable. It would have been an impossible situation had your family been interned.’
Ross nodded, reading the letter through again. ‘What time did they leave?’
‘Late last night. Or it may have been early this morning. The other consideration was transport. We have no horses here, and if Demelza had not gone with Mlle de la Blache she might have been stranded until too late.’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘And you?’
‘I? I have a flea-bitten nag which may carry me a few miles more.’
‘And money to buy a change when you need one?’
‘Enough.’
‘Then I’d advise you to go. Tonight if possible. Napoleon can enter now in his own good time. If the worst comes to the worst we could offer you sanctuary here. But if you have a horse and it will carry you I would advise you to use it.’
Ross finished his wine. ‘The nag must be fed. That will take more than an hour. Did Mlle de la Blache give any idea of the route she would be taking?’
‘I did not see her. Probably the ordinary coach road to Calais.’
‘I might catch them up. Though not, I think, on this nag.’
Fitzroy Somerset came away from the fire. ‘It’s a sorry situation. I wonder what the Duke will think of it.’
‘That he has his war to fight over again,’ said Ross.
‘I cannot imagine him staying long in Vienna. You know that the Allied Powers have declared Napoleon an outlaw? Unless he can persuade them to rescind that declaration it must mean war . . . But all his – all the Duke’s great Peninsular army is dispersed – some of it in America, much of it disbanded! If it comes to a battle he can only command a motley collection of armies and men.’
‘What shall you do?’
‘I?’ said Somerset. ‘I shall get out of here as soon as I diplomatically can. I want no more ambassadorial tasks! I shall rejoin the army wherever it is and whenever I am permitted.’
II
Ross took the horse back to the mews behind his apartment and left it to be fed and watered and rested. He could not decently expect the beast to be ready for another couple of hours.
Then he went upstairs, but the rooms were cold and empty. He opened one or two drawers, seeing that most of his own clothes had been left and quite a few things belonging to Demelza and the children. So they had been travelling light. Then, unable to contain his patience, he went out again and walked to the de la Blache residence, which was only about half a mile away, on the rue d’Antin.
The door of the porte cochère was ajar, and he strode in, crossed the courtyard and knocked at the inner door. It took some minutes of perseverance before there was movement, and then the door opened two inches, clacking on the chain.
‘Mme Victoire.’ It was Jodie’s rather saturnine housekeeper.
‘Oui, monsieur?’ She recognized him, of course.
‘Your mistress, Mlle de la Blache – she has gone?’
‘Oh, yes, monsieur. Hier soir.’
‘At what time did she leave?’
The housekeeper shrugged. ‘Neuf heures – neuf heures et demie. I do not remember exact.’ As he still stood there she reluctantly unhooked the chain and he followed her into the hall. The place was in great disorder.
‘Has someone else been here since she left?’
‘Three men from the Service de Sûreté. I am here alone now except for Marcel, who is nearly blind.’
‘What did the men want?’
‘They would not say, except that they wished to interview Mlle de la Blache.’
Ross glanced around. ‘My wife and children, as I’m sure you know, travelled with Mlle de la Blache when she left. Did she give you any details of the route they would take?’
Victoire’s sullen face showed a glint of surprise. ‘Monsieur? Oh no, monsieur. Lady Poldark and her children were not in the coach. Madame left with one gentleman only.’
Ross stared. ‘But I have my wife’s letter here saying Mlle de la Blache was taking her with her! And the children.’
‘I heard nothing of this, monsieur. And it was talked of freely in my presence. I saw them go. They left, just the two of them, in madame’s berlin. I watched them to the end of the street and then came in and locked up and went to bed.’
Ross continued to stare at Victoire. She had no charm but her honesty was evident.
‘Who was this man who went with your mistress?’
‘Sieur Menieres. He is a known figure at Court and I have seen him here before. It was decided only a few hours before they left. A message came f
rom the Palace requesting that madame should take Sieur Menieres with her. Perhaps that led to a change of plan. But I never heard Lady Poldark’s name mentioned. Perhaps some friend of madame’s was able to oblige her. Madame de Maisonneuve perhaps, or Madame d’Henin. Everyone has left who could leave. Those remaining must look forward to resigning themselves to submission to the tyrant.’
‘But I have it in my letter . . .’ Ross stopped. There was no point in continuing to argue. ‘Did these men – these men from the police – ask you where Mlle de la Blache had gone?’
‘Naturally. I said she had left Paris. I did not know how or with whom or where she was going. I said I was not in madame’s confidence.’
Outside darkness was falling. Ross began to walk back to the apartment. His ankle was not as painful as yesterday. Perhaps it meant the wet weather was over.
So if he picked up his horse and went off, what then? Demelza and the children must have left somehow, otherwise they would be in the apartment. There could have been some sudden change of plan. Ross knew Madame d’Henin slightly but had never heard of Madame de Maisonneuve. Useless to return to the Embassy. What of Henri de la Blache? With the King gone and the resistance before Melun a débâcle, Henri might well be back in the Tuileries, superintending the evacuation of the Palace. Worth a try? It was no more than half a mile out of the way.
Ross approached the Palace from the rue de Richelieu. The streets were still very quiet and deserted, but as he neared the courtyard of the Carrousel he could hear the murmur of voices, and soon he was threading his way through a great throng of people, many of them soldiers, who talked and muttered and stamped their feet and stood in groups smoking.
He got virtually to the steps of the Palace before he realized what they were waiting for. A great shout went up in the distance and travelled towards him in diminishing waves like a Cornish sea. The cause of the shouting was coming nearer, bringing the sound with him. There were lights all over the Palace now, windows thrown up and candles guttering.
The Twisted Sword Page 17