Days passed and the captain did not return. He sent for his belongings. She learned the officers were to be housed with Dutch families ashore. Raoul, too, was given permission to leave the ship. The crew grumbled. Why was he allowed to visit the brothels of town when they were not? Girardin watched him go, dressed in his blue frockcoat and loose white shirt, half officer, half seaman. He tipped his tricorn hat to her with a hot, wet grin.
The port throbbed with the ebb and flow of trading ships. Here, everything was in continual motion. Ships came in from Amboyna, bringing spices from the islands, and from Japan with silk and porcelain. She watched the crates being loaded and unloaded, taken to and fro. The ships from Amsterdam came into dock filled with cloth and silver from Europe and returned loaded up with crates of pepper, mace, nutmeg and cloves. She watched it all. Fishing junks flitted in between the Dutch ships. The pulse of life went on at frenetic pace while the French ships remained trussed and bound with their rudders taken.
Sides of butchered beef and crates of vegetables were carried on board for her to feed the crew, but she saw none of the provisions needed for a long sea voyage. By now, Girardin was convinced that d’Auribeau had failed. She missed the General more than ever. He would have charmed the Dutch. He would’ve made the Dutch see they were no threat.
The monsoon rains came early. The rain drilled into the deck, chasing everyone below. The crew were falling sick with dysentery. The stretchers came each day to carry more men down the gangplanks, wrapped tight in their bedding, to be taken to the hospital or the cemetery. Only the sick and the dead were allowed to leave the ship.
‘Why haven’t they released us?’ she asked Mérite when he sat with her in the great cabin. Each night she cooked for the officer of the watch. ‘We cannot stay trapped here forever. This war might last for years!’
She looked up to the ceiling where a row of black swans hung with their feet crossed and bound, their necks looped over a rail. Along the windowsills, Félix’s breadfruit plants climbed towards an open window.
‘D’Auribeau does his best,’ he said evasively.
‘They have sent us no supplies for the journey home!’
Mérite looked away. ‘What is there for us back home? The King is dead, disorder reigns, we will return to war and famine. We are better off here.’
She stared at him. ‘You can’t mean that.’
He shrugged.
‘Don’t you have a family to go back to?’ she asked.
He crossed the room and poured himself another glass of brandy. ‘No,’ he said.
The silence stretched between them. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured, regretting her rudeness. She had let her anxiety overcome her. ‘Forgive me.’
‘I never knew my mother or my father,’ he continued. ‘I was a foundling.’
Her breath caught in her chest.
‘You have heard of the nourrices?’ he asked. His back was to her. He gazed out the small square windows.
She could not speak.
‘My mother was a wet nurse.’
Tears welled in her eyes. This was too cruel. She did not want to listen.
‘We lived in squalor. The babies were kept in a darkened room with mattresses on the floor. Every week they would come in from the church and every week we would send more caskets back. I mostly remember hunger.’
Girardin felt sick. She had assumed him to be the pampered son of nobility, grown strong on plenty, and now the truth seemed more horrific for her mistake.
‘But I was one of the lucky ones.’ He swallowed his brandy. ‘I survived.’
‘Do you blame her?’ she choked.
‘The wet nurse?’ He half turned to face her.
‘No—your mother, your real mother. Do you blame her for abandoning you?’
Above her head, the monsoon rain lashed the glass panes. The noise was sudden and thunderous as she waited, not wanting to hear his answer. Water pooled in the cased window panes and she had the sensation of being pushed underwater. Of drowning.
‘I did at first. When I was a child.’ He paused. ‘But by age eleven I had seen enough of the world to understand.’
Girardin let silent tears seep down her cheeks and drip onto her shirt.
‘I forgave her.’
She breathed in deeply, her chest shuddering.
Mérite kept his back to her and she was grateful for it. The pain in her throat was like a swallowed pebble.
‘I ran away to sea,’ he said amiably. ‘And I was lucky. The General found me.’
Girardin wiped her face and pressed the backs of her hands against her eyes.
‘The tide washes the beach clean every day. That’s what he told me.’
She heard Mérite moving behind her. ‘A man can reinvent himself at sea.’ He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. ‘Or a woman.’
He bent and kissed the pulse in her neck. Shivers raced down the whole of her left side. She froze. He kissed her again. His breath was soft on her neck.
‘Please don’t,’ she whispered and caught his hand. ‘I am old enough to be your mother.’
‘What does that matter?’ He turned her chair to face him. ‘I can protect you. We can stay here, start again. I will get a position with the Dutch. What is there for us in France? Nothing we know remains.’
‘I have a son,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘And I made a promise to return.’
Chapter 59
WHEN CAPTAIN D’AURIBEAU FINALLY REBOARDED THE SHIP, HE was flanked by a consort of Dutch soldiers. Girardin frowned as he called everyone to the deck. A low, questioning murmur rumbled around her. The crewmen shifted uneasily, casting nervous glances at the heavily armed guards. The crowd parted for d’Auribeau to ascend the quarterdeck. Girardin looked for Mérite and found him among the Dutch guards circling the ship’s company. She had not seen him for more than a week, and she wondered if her rejection had angered him. He would not meet her gaze.
A flag was flapping loosely in the uncertain breeze. It was the white Bourbon flag of Louis XVI, now flying at half-mast. She turned her face away from it.
D’Auribeau looked tired and aged far beyond his thirty years, and his hands trembled with palsy. When he began to speak, his voice did not travel well and they all had to shuffle forwards to hear.
‘I have negotiated the provisions for our return to France. We can sail!’
Cheering erupted all around her. Could it be true?
‘Have we been released?’ She turned to Félix. He was dancing a jig on the spot. The sailors threw their arms around each other. Few noticed that d’Auribeau had continued to speak. Girardin looked for Mérite and found him thin-lipped and sweating, eyes darting towards the Dutch soldiers.
‘There are conditions,’ said d’Auribeau, straining to be heard above the revelry.
Rossel ordered the tocsin rung and its clanging stilled the voices.
‘There have been rumours of a republican spy aboard, a man sent to bring down the King’s expedition.’
Girardin dared not move, dared not make a sound.
‘These rebels make the Dutch nervous. They think we will run to Isle de France and join the republican forces. They think we will betray them.’
She heard a growl of low, questioning voices around her. What did this mean?
‘We must flush out the traitors. All personal journals will be requisitioned. The ships will be searched. Those who do not hand over their papers will be punished!’
Girardin gasped and thought of her own secret journal. Was it safe? Had she hidden it well enough? All her letters to her son, to Olympe, all her fears laid bare.
‘Furthermore,’ snapped d’Auribeau, ‘if I read your name, step forwards.’
‘What is this?’ said a voice from the crowd. It was Ventenat. He was wearing his black cassock and his face looked deathly white.
D’Auribeau read out the list of names. ‘Ventenat, Riche, Labillardière, Lahaie, Piron.’ Beside her, Labillardière raised his chin defiantly. What di
d this mean?
‘These men are traitors. They are to be arrested immediately.’
‘No!’ she cried. This was madness, she could not believe it. The chaplain was quickly surrounded by armed men and yanked towards the gangway.
Mérite gripped Félix by his arms. ‘Let him go!’ Girardin cried. Armand spat on Mérite’s shoe and the old sailor was dragged away by a Dutch soldier. His monkey bared its teeth and shrieked.
‘What of my collections?’ Labillardière said, shouldering Saint-Aignan aside.
‘The collections belong to the expedition,’ snapped d’Auribeau. ‘As such, they will be safe.’
‘The breadfruit!’ said Félix, as he jerked his arm from Mérite’s grasp. ‘I must take my plants.’
‘Very well.’ Captain d’Auribeau waved them away as he retreated inside his cabin to cries of ‘Shame!’
She followed Félix to the great cabin with Mérite trailing behind. Félix tore his breadfruit plants from the soil, piling them into a canvas bag. He tucked his chest of stored seeds beneath his arm, the collection more precious to him than a box of jewels.
‘How can you do this?’ Girardin rounded on Mérite. ‘You know they are not traitors.’
‘I am following orders.’
‘You are saving your skin. You sicken me!’
He took a step back, wounded.
‘How could you betray us?’ she hissed.
‘Girardin,’ Félix called.
She went to him. ‘This is insanity! She clasped the gardener’s arms, disbelieving. This friend who had carried her through all the trials of this journey. ‘What will happen to you?’
He bent forwards, his lips lightly brushing the side of her mouth. ‘It has been an honour,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘Enough,’ Mérite said, tugging Félix’s arm.
The savants were marched from the ship by the Dutch guards. Girardin sank to her knees. The last glimpse she had of them was Labillardière’s tall hat moving through the crowded dock and Félix’s hand raised in farewell.
Chapter 60
TWO SOLDIERS RANSACKED THE SHIP UNDER THE WATCHFUL EYES of d’Auribeau and Raoul. They tore apart each of the naturalist’s cabins, removing loose boards and slicing open pillows. The great cabin was next. Girardin stood by as they opened the plant presses and tossed the dried plants onto the floor. A row of black swans swung from the ceiling above her head, twisting like hanged men. All the while, Raoul leaned against the wall and leered at her.
D’Auribeau ordered her to unlock her cabin. She clenched her jaw as the soldiers tipped over her chest, scattering her few belongings across the floor. Her string of shells tumbled out, the one she had traded a kerchief for with the boy of Van Diemen’s Land, the one she was going to give to her son. She snatched it up and clasped it around her neck.
D’Auribeau thumbed through the book of mathematics and raised an eyebrow at her, but made no comment. She had already torn out the first page with Kermadec’s inscription on it and kept it close to her skin. To MLG, with admiration and love.
With each stab of the rapier into the bins of tea and grain, her shoulders jerked. Her journal was not found.
As soon as the soldiers were gone, she crumpled to her knees. D’Auribeau had arrested half the crew and let the other half leave the ship. She alone was made to stay on board with a watch posted to guard the ship. He had isolated her completely.
All her friends. Taken.
Many times in her life, Girardin had grieved. Many times she had been brought low. And now those moments of despair engulfed her. She felt the loss of her first child all over again, the ache of losing Etienne, and the raw pain of Kermadec’s death. Everyone she dared to love had been taken from her. Her friends peeled away. Even Mérite had turned against her. He was no different from men like Raoul and Hébert, men who chose the side of greatest power.
Abandoned. She recognised this dreadful loneliness. This was not the first time she had been stripped bare, left with nowhere else to turn.
Hébert did not take the news of her pregnancy well. He had risen from the bed, his member shrivelling.
‘How do you know it’s mine?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, my love, how could it be any other?’
‘You should have been more careful.’ He paced in front of the curtained window.
Marie-Louise bit her lip, feeling panic rising within her. ‘I—I thought you might be pleased,’ she stammered.
‘You meant to trap me, is that it? Contrive a marriage for yourself? The plain daughter of a pompous merchant!’
‘But I love you,’ she whispered.
‘You stupid, stupid bitch. You have ruined everything! Do you think the palace will have a place for an unmarried whore and her bastard? Go back to your papa—I have no use for you now.’
‘You should not have slept with your loyal pet then,’ she snapped in sudden anger, kneeling up on the bedsheets, one hand resting on the slight mound of her stomach.
Hébert punched her in the mouth. She toppled backwards, sprawling awkwardly on the floorboards. Blood streamed from her lip, and she could feel it throb and swell. With trembling fingers she touched her teeth, checking to see if they remained.
Hébert rushed to her, whispered into her hair, rocking her in his embrace. He promised her he would take care of it. Bring her a tonic. He knew of a woman who dealt with such inconveniences.
Marie-Louise had blamed herself. I should have been more careful, she scolded herself. Why do I always ruin everything?
Now Girardin was angry.
Hébert had cut her loose. She waited in all the usual places, but he no longer came to collect her in his carriage. On her free afternoon each week she went to the rooms he had rented. He was never there. She had no knowledge of where he printed his broadsheets; he had kept that secret as close as an ingrown hair. Eventually, her increasing girth became too difficult to hide and her pregnancy was discovered. She was dismissed from the Tuileries.
Marie-Louise found a boarding house in Paris with a landlord who did not ask too many questions. She didn’t know what to do. She had no way to contact Hébert. At the Club des Jacobins they would not admit her, would not tell her where he lived. She had lurked in the dark street outside their premises in Rue Saint-Honoré and watched for him to arrive. He never did. He had made her promise not to tell anyone that she spied for him, not even Olympe. She had ignored her Girondist friends during her infatuation with Hébert and was too ashamed to seek help from them now. She looked for work, but there was no mistaking the condition she was in. She saw disbelief, disgust, righteous indignation and, only once, pity. Doors closed in her face.
Each day she walked past the turnstile in the church wall: the tour d’abandon. How was she to raise a child? With the price of bread and soap escalating, her savings dwindled quickly until all that remained was the price of a coach ticket to Versailles. She had no choice. For the second time in her life she would beg for her father’s mercy.
There was a thump at the cabin door. Girardin started. She saw the door handle rattle.
‘Open up!’
It was d’Auribeau. He had come back for her. Her chair fell as she stood.
‘Now!’
She obeyed.
Captain d’Auribeau entered and closed the door behind him. He looked about, plucking at the fingers of his gloves. She recognised the gesture. He had the same mannerisms as her father. She touched the knife in her pocket and raised her chin.
‘Tell me, did you wonder why you were not arrested with your republican friends?’
Girardin felt the bandages around her breasts tighten. So Raoul had finally spoken out of her betrayal of the King and d’Auribeau had come for retribution. Now the moment she had dreaded had come, she felt surprisingly calm. It was almost a relief. She said nothing, awaiting her fate.
‘No? Well, I made a promise to a dying man.’ He circled around her, speaking softly. ‘A promise not to harm a hair of your pretty shaven h
ead.’ She felt his breath on the back of her neck.
She closed her eyes.
‘I promised the General I would see you safely home. You do want to go home, don’t you?’
She clenched her teeth.
‘To your child.’
Her breath caught in her throat. He knew about her son. Her heart sounded against her ribs: All is lost, all is lost.
‘I have seen you playing at being the savant with those traitors to the King.’ He stopped and faced her, slapping his gloves against his thigh. ‘While that charlatan of a priest plotted to kill the General!’
She gasped. ‘That is not true!’ This was nonsense. Ventenat would not harm the General.
‘Ventenat is a republican spy. A tool of the revolution. He has blood on his hands.’
‘You have no proof!’ She was confused. Why did he accuse Ventenat of being the republican spy? Had Raoul kept her secret? If so, then what did d’Auribeau want with her?
‘Proof is what I expect you to provide for me.’ He inclined his head with a snide smile. ‘Tell me where the naturalists have hidden their journals, and I will let you sail.’ He spread his hands wide as though offering her a perfectly reasonable choice.
Betray her friends and sail home. He was giving her the chance to find her son. Speak out and she could go home. It would be so easy. All this suffering could be over. She stared at him, mute.
The tic in the side of his face jerked. One eye spasmed closed and she saw the effort it took to force it open. ‘I could still have you arrested,’ he said, ‘have you languish here in jail with your friends.’ His face screwed in disgust. ‘I am sending them into the jungle, far away from any ships that might take them home.’
‘What if I do not know?’
His laugh was cold. ‘Ah, Marie-Louise. So many men have been curious about you. So many men would want to come and test this aberration of nature.’ He flicked his gloves against her bound breasts. She thought of Raoul and the soiled rope he had thumped against her chest. She wanted to spit.
‘Let me give you some time to think on the matter,’ the captain said. ‘If you do not remember by tomorrow, I will be forced to let the men loose on this ship. Let them satisfy their curiosity. The choice, Mademoiselle, is yours.’
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