In the Commodore's Hands

by Mary Nichols

  ‘The population are blaming the food shortages on hoarders and shopkeepers keeping goods back for those who can afford to pay exorbitant prices,’ Sam said when he returned and all three, washed and changed into clean clothes, were sitting at the dining table eating a hastily prepared meal which, though frugal, had cost Sam hundreds of their assignats. ‘The women are furious over the food shortages and are blaming hoarders. They are far more vociferous than the men. Thousands of men are being conscripted for the army and that’s another grievance they have. Without their menfolk they have lost their breadwinners.’

  ‘It will die down by tomorrow,’ Jay said. ‘We do not need to go out any more today. I for one could sleep the clock round.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Sam said, making Lisette realise she had had the better of their journey because Jay had always made sure she slept in a bed and she could doze in the carriage if she could ignore the jolting over the uneven roads, while he had perforce to stay alert against possible attack by the mob who saw a carriage as a sign of wealth. As for Sam, he had had the task of driving them and it could not have been easy, and where he had slept each night she did not know. The crowded hotels often crammed half-a-dozen sleepers into one room, sometimes into one bed.

  ‘Tomorrow I will visit the Assembly and speak to Monsieur Pierre Martin,’ Jay told them. ‘He is to be my go-between with the French government.’

  ‘What about Michel?’ Lisette put in.

  Jay turned to her. ‘I need to find out how things stand officially with members of the court, whether they are under arrest or able to move about freely. And I must at least appear to be doing our Government’s business.’

  ‘Is that all? Every day we delay could be crucial to Michel’s safety, surely you realise that after what we have witnessed today.’

  ‘It will do no good making a nuisance of ourselves. As soon as I know how the land lies we can plan a course of action.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing! You would have me sit here all day with nothing to do but worry.’

  ‘Lisette,’ he said patiently, while Sam decided to make himself scarce by clearing away the dishes, ‘I did not ask you to come with me. I would much rather you had stayed at home, or at least remained on board the yacht. Now you are here, will you please do as I say?’

  ‘Like the dutiful wife I am supposed to be,’ she said waspishly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I am not your wife.’

  ‘No.’ It was said quietly.

  Sam had come back with a bottle of Calvados and some glasses, which he put on the table in front of Jay. Lisette stood up. ‘I will leave you to your brandy, Commodore.’

  The look on Jay’s face when he had said that one word, ‘No’, had told her it would not be a comfortable evening if she stayed. She toiled up to her room and sat on a chair by the window. It was an effort not to think about Jay and what he thought of her, but they had come to France with a definite goal and she would be better employed contemplating that rather than eating her heart out for a man who considered her nothing but a nuisance. Michel must come first.

  He was surely still at the Tuileries Palace and all they had to do was go there and find him. If he was being watched as he had written he was, then they must find some subterfuge for smuggling him out of the palace, out of the city and out of the country. Jay knew that, knew how worried and impatient she was, so why was he prevaricating? Was he more interested in his errand for the British Government than his promise to her? It was up to her to do something to expedite matters. Nothing could be done that day, while the streets were still seething with angry humanity and, besides, she was too tired to think clearly. She took off all her clothes and climbed into bed. It was soft and warm and she was soon asleep and did, indeed, almost sleep the clock round.

  When she rose next morning, Jay had already left the house and her breakfast was served to her by Madame Gilbert. Where Sam was she did not know, but assumed he was with Jay. It meant they trusted her not to go out. More fool them.

  As soon as she had finished eating she put a warm burnous over the green skirt and laced bodice she wore and set off on foot for the Tuileries. The riots had died down, but there were overturned carts still littering the streets and broken glass from shop windows. And there were bodies swinging from some of the lamp posts, strung up there by the pulleys the lamplighters used. She shuddered and passed on.

  The Tuileries, as she expected, was guarded and she was stopped and asked her business. ‘I carry a petition to The National Convention from my home village,’ she said.

  ‘And where might that be?’ The man was not unfriendly. Petitions were a daily occurrence and the petitioners usually allowed to pass.

  ‘Villarive. We need our menfolk for the cider making and they are all being conscripted.’

  The man laughed and waved her on. ‘You had better join the queue, then.’

  She went in the direction he had indicated towards the Salle du Manage, which was on the north side of the Tuileries Gardens. It had been home to the royal equestrian academy and because it was the largest indoor space in the city, it was where the Convention did its business. Here were lines of people waiting to be heard. Lisette attached herself to the end of one line, but as soon as the guard had turned his attention elsewhere, she pulled her shawl over her head and set off for the Palace and Michel’s rooms.

  He was not there. Her disappointment was profound; why she had expected to find him there, she did not know. The King was in prison, so where was Michel? Had they come too late and he had joined his monarch in the Temple? She stood undecided, wondering whether to make her way to that forbidding fortress with its huge, impenetrable walls, when she saw Auguste hurrying along the corridor. She dashed after him.

  ‘Auguste, wait.’

  He turned at the sound of his name. ‘Mademoiselle Giradet, what are you doing here?’ He was thin as a rake, hollow-eyed and badly dressed, nothing like the immaculate man she had known. ‘I heard you were safe in England.’

  ‘I came back for Michel. Where is he?’

  ‘You are too late. He was arrested two days ago.’

  ‘Oh, no. Why? On what charge?’

  ‘Do they need a charge?’ the man said. ‘It is enough that he served the King. You must leave. You are wanted yourself for breaking your father out of prison and so is your brother for aiding and abetting.’

  ‘Michel had nothing to do with that. He was here in Paris. You can testify to it.’

  ‘Me? Oh, no! I do not fancy losing my head to that awful contraption. It is waiting for you, too, if you stay here. You should never have come back. Henri Canard is after your blood. And your brother’s. He went to Villarive after the King was arrested, expecting to live quietly at home, but Canard was there, lording it in the château as if he owned it. They fought, but Canard has many friends, and your brother had to flee for his life. He came back here and was immediately arrested.’

  ‘Where is he being held?’

  Auguste shrugged. ‘I do not know. I am preparing to leave myself while I can. If I were you, I would make all haste to return to England. You cannot do anything for your brother.’

  She turned and left him and made her way back the way she had come, all five senses at fever pitch in case she was recognised. Being so like her brother had its disadvantages. People were coming and going along the corridors, all going about their business and trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. She could smell fear all around her. Her thoughts turned to Jay, who was doing his best to help her and who had trusted her not to do anything foolish while he was out; he would be furious with her for this. That is if she managed to return to the Embassy without being arrested herself. In that event he would never know what had happened to her. No doubt he would wash his hands of her and go home, and who could blame him? She pulled up the hood of her cloak and kept her head down.

  Glad to be out in the fresh air again,
she took a deep breath and made for the main gate. The same guard was there. ‘You did not take long,’ he said, recognising her. ‘How did you manage it?’

  ‘The queue was too long. I decided to try again another day.’

  ‘It will not be any shorter tomorrow.’

  ‘Perhaps. If so, I may not bother.’

  ‘Very wise.’ He waved her on.

  She was out in the street again, safely merging with the populace. Where next? She turned and walked along the river bank to the Rue du Temple and made her way along it to the Temple and stood outside, wondering if Michel were inside with the Royal family. There were two distinct buildings: a palace and a tower, a forbidding square edifice, surrounded by four round turrets which the King had once used to imprison those who had offended him. Now he was the one to be incarcerated. Plucking up her courage, she took a step forwards, only to have her arm seized.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t.’

  She squirmed round, but she already knew who held her. Jay was looking very annoyed and very determined. ‘I was only going to ask if Michel is there,’ she told him.

  ‘He is not. Louis is not allowed to have any of his old retainers with him.’ He turned her round to walk back the way she had come. She did not resist.

  ‘He has been arrested, his valet told me so.’

  ‘So that was what you were doing at the Palace.’

  Mr Roker must have followed her, or Albert Mouchon, ordered to do so by Jay, who did not trust her, after all. ‘I wonder you did not think of enquiring there yourself.’

  ‘Oh, but I did. Michel was arrested for assaulting a Deputy, one by the name of Henri Canard, and for assisting in the escape of the ci-devant Comte Giradet. He is in La Force.’ La Force, situated in the Rue du Roi Sicile, was one of the many prisons in Paris.

  ‘Who told you that? Auguste said he did not know where he was.’

  ‘I have ways of learning these things,’ he said. ‘It is a pity you cannot trust me.’

  She did not know what to say to that and was silent as they made their way through the crowded streets to the Embassy. No one challenged them, though she was on tenterhooks that they might. Once someone pushed past her, nearly knocking her over. Jay grabbed her and from then on kept her arm firmly in his.

  ‘What else did you learn?’ she asked, glad of his strength, though she would not admit it.

  ‘About your brother?’

  ‘Yes. I care nothing for politics.’

  ‘It is politics and politicians that have brought France to this pass. They cannot agree among themselves about what is to be done, but if Marat has his way, every nobleman in France will lose his head. It is to be hoped that less bloodthirsty factions will restrain him.’

  She glanced up at one of the bodies swinging gently from a lamp post. ‘They don’t seem to be having much success.’

  ‘No, which is why we must proceed with caution.’

  ‘So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Tonight, you and I are going to dine with Maximilien Robespierre. He is a committed Republican, so mind what you say.’

  ‘I do not wish to go. He is one of the chief oppressors.’

  ‘Whether you wish it or not, you will, as my wife, accompany me.’

  ‘According to Auguste I am wanted for aiding my father’s escape. If Monsieur Robespierre learns of that, not even you will be able to save me.’

  ‘I am aware of that. It is why you are here as my wife, to give you some degree of protection.’ He ushered her into the house. ‘I must go and change and you should, too. Nothing too elaborate, we do not want to embarrass our host.’

  ‘I do not have anything elaborate. I brought only what I could carry in a portmanteau. I have clothes in plenty at Villarive which I was obliged to leave behind. No doubt Henri Canard’s wife is enjoying them. According to Auguste he has taken over the château and is living like a lord.’ She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Is it not strange that those who advocate equality and want to do away with the nobles are the first to ape them when the opportunity arises?’

  ‘It is human nature. Now go and change. Come down to the salon when you are ready. We must give you a new history, an English one.’

  They parted on the landing to go to their separate rooms. Lisette turned her clothes out on the bed. There were only two gowns to choose from: a dark blue cambric and a rose-coloured taffeta with a plain quilted stomacher. She chose the latter as being more suitable for an evening occasion. It had no false hips or cage, neither of which could be accommodated in her luggage. With no one to dress her hair, she simply brushed it out and tied it back with a ribbon. Then she made her way downstairs.

  Jay was already in the salon. Dressed in a plain suit of dark blue cloth with a dove-grey waistcoat and white shirt, he was standing with his back to the fire. He moved away when she entered and came forwards to take her hand and lead her to a sofa.

  ‘We have half an hour before we need to leave,’ he said, sitting down beside her and retaining her hand in his. ‘And we must decide who you are and how we came to meet and marry. I think it will be safer if you are English with no French antecedents.’

  ‘Very well. I could use my mother’s maiden name of Wentworth.’

  ‘Not that,’ he said sharply.

  ‘You do not like it?’

  ‘It will not serve.’

  ‘Will you tell me why?’

  ‘It is too well known and too easily checked.’

  Curiosity got the better of her. ‘Is that the only reason? I noticed your reaction on a previous occasion when the name was mentioned. There is, I think, some enmity there.’

  ‘It is nothing that need concern you.’

  ‘But I, as your wife—’

  ‘But you are not, and my life before we met has no relevance to our present situation.’

  ‘I meant if I am to play your wife,’ she amended. ‘I should know something of your past. Is it so painful to speak of it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You do not trust me.’

  He laughed. ‘Trust is a two-way affair, Lisette. Perhaps one day I will tell you, but not now. Let us go back to your name and history. I think we could use my mother’s maiden name of Challon. If asked, we will say your father was her brother. If anyone takes the trouble to query it, my parents will vouch for you.’

  ‘Does your mother have a brother?’

  ‘No, we will invent one. William Challon, that will do. Long deceased, of course. So is your mother. You grew up at Blackfen Manor with my parents.’

  ‘It will make us cousins.’

  ‘All the better. We have known each other all our lives.’

  ‘Yes, and when your wife died, I was there to comfort you and we fell in love.’

  ‘Must you bring love into it?’

  ‘Of course. We must be convincing.’

  This pretend story was playing havoc with her emotions. The story might be fiction, but her love was real enough. Why could they not talk about it? A man should not mourn his wife for ever and be blind to new affection.

  ‘Very well, the story is yours. You will probably not need to tell it anyway. What about a Christian name? Lisette is a little too French. Shall you be Elizabeth?’

  ‘Elizabeth Challon,’ she mused. ‘Newly wed. Could this visit to France be our honeymoon, do you think?’

  ‘It is a strange place to come for a wedding trip,’ he said with a laugh. ‘We are likely to lose our heads if we are not careful.’

  ‘Is that not why you are here at the behest of the British Government, to prevent more bloodshed?’

  ‘Yes, hence the need to be pleasant to Robespierre and his like. I have asked Sam to bring the carriage round at half past six.’

  She looked up at the clock on the mantel. ‘It is nearly that now.’

  ‘Yes. He will come and tell us when he is ready.’

  ‘What has he been doing all day?’

  ‘Making enquiries for me. You would be surprised at what he mana
ges to achieve, given a free hand. It would not surprise me to learn he knows the layout of La Force prison in perfect detail.’

  ‘Oh, Jay,’ she said. ‘You have been thinking of me, after all.’

  ‘Of course. You are forever in my thoughts, you and that brother of yours who seems to be able to command your utmost love and loyalty.’

  ‘Why not?’ she said, puzzled by the tone of his voice. ‘Blood is thicker than water and he is my twin, which makes us extra close. Do you not feel like that about your sisters?’

  ‘Naturally I do.’

  ‘There you are, then.’

  Sam arrived to tell them the carriage was at the door and if they did not want it purloined, they had best make haste and get into it.

  The house in Rue St Honore where Robespierre lodged was the home of Maurice Duplay and it was he who greeted them and ushered them into the salon where his other guests had already arrived. Lisette was introduced to Maximilien Robespierre, an elegant little man with perfect manners, Georges Danton, the Minister of Justice, who was fat and not at all attractive, and Philippe Le Bas, another Deputy who was married to their host’s elder daughter, Elisabeth, who was there with her husband. The party was completed by Madame Duplay, her younger daughter, Eleanore, and Pierre Martin who, unlike the others who were Jacobins, served on the National Convention as an independent.

  Lisette did not curtsy—such courtesies went out with the Revolution—but she inclined her head slightly and greeted each of them politely, calling them monsieur, madame or mademoiselle, though they referred to each other as citoyen or citoyenne.

  Supper was served almost as soon as they arrived and the conversation at the table was entirely about politics and the war with Austria. Lisette took no part, preferring to listen. Jay, she noted, was circumspect in what he said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with their fellow diners, even when what they said seemed outrageous.