“It’s all right,” he said in a steady voice. “Armand will save us.”
“I only hope I can do so,” the Vicomte said. “Follow me!”
He went from the salon and Jabina and the Duke followed him.
To her surprise they did not go downstairs, but climbed up the staircase to the first, second, third and fourth floors.
Now they were in the attics and the Vicomte opened a door at the far end of a small dusty room that could not have been used for a long time.
It was filled with ancient trunks, broken china and chairs that had lost an arm or a leg.
It was lit only by a skylight and Jabina saw a ladder against one of the walls.
The Vicomte and the Duke adjusted it into position and locked the door behind them.
“They will search the rest of the house first,” the Vicomte said, “but I was only a few minutes ahead of them. In fact I saw them marching in this direction as I came to collect you in my carriage.”
“They must not connect you with our disappearance,” the Duke urged.
“I can look after myself,” the Vicomte answered. “Come on, Drue. Let’s hope that Jabina is as agile as you used to be in climbing over the roofs of Paris.”
Jabina wondered why the Duke had climbed them in the past, but there was no time to ask questions.
The two men hurried her up the ladder and she found herself standing in a deep gully between the high grey gabled roofs that rose on either side of it.
The Vicomte drew the ladder up beside them and laid it down on the roof. Then he secured the skylight.
They then followed his lead, walking along in gullies, climbing up small narrow ladders to roofs that were higher than the one they were on and then down ladders on the other side.
At times there was a dangerous and terrifying drop into the street below.
It seemed to Jabina that they walked for miles. The skirt of her pretty new gown was soon black with dust and dirt and so were her hands.
She found the bag she carried her mother’s jewellery in an encumbrance and the Duke, taking it from her, managed to insert it into an inside pocket of his coat where it bulged, but no one at the moment was thinking about appearances.
By the time Jabina thought that they must have walked half way across Paris, they came to another skylight similar to the one they had used to reach the roofs and climbed down into yet another attic room.
The house they now found themselves in was very different from the one that had just left. It appeared to be empty and the windows were boarded up. The floors were thick with dust and rats scuttled away at their approach.
They went down staircases with broken balustrades and the footboards had holes in them.
They reached the ground floor and Jabina thought that they must be going out into the street. But instead the Vicomte crossed the hall.
Behind the main staircase there was a narrow, even more precarious one, which must once have been used by servants.
They went down this and, passing through what appeared to be a heavy cellar door, they found themselves in a huge cavern, which, to Jabina’s astonishment, was filled with people.
There were more men than women, but they were not, as might have been expected, people of lower class, but all of them were elegantly dressed and apparently aristocrats.
They were certainly not sitting there doing nothing. Each of them seemed to be engaged in some task or another. The men had papers, probably maps in front of them and the women were sorting out clothes.
At the far end of the cavern a very distinguished-looking elderly man with grey hair was sitting behind a trestle table and the Vicomte led Jabina and the Duke up to him.
“May I introduce His Grace the Duke of Warminster, monsieur,” he said, “and his sister, Lady Jabina Minster.”
The older man rose and held out his hand.
“I am the Duc de St. Croix,” he said. “I am delighted that Armand could rescue you in time.”
“You must forgive me if I seem a little bewildered by what is happening,” the Duke said.
“As Armand will have told you,” the Duc de St. Croix answered, “the Corsican has ordered your arrest.”
“Why?” the Duke asked. “When war is declared, it is not usual for the authorities to proceed immediately against civilians.”
“What can you expect from an untamed barbarian?” the Duc de St. Croix enquired almost spitting out the words.
“What has infuriated Bonaparte,” the Vicomte explained, “is that two French brigs have been captured at sea by British ships. From this moment the Continent is closed to the British and those who are already here are to be treated as prisoners of war.”
“It’s incredible!” the Duke exclaimed.
“That is what we think,” the Duc de St. Croix agreed. “But nothing surprises us where Bonaparte is concerned.”
The Vicomte smiled.
“It would be a feather in his cap to have the Duke of Warminster as his prisoner. God knows how long the war will last!”
“It will last until the British beat Napoleon’s Army,” the Duc de St. Croix said briefly. “Now, Your Grace, we have to decide in which disguise it would be best for you to leave Paris.”
“Have you sent to the Employment Exchange?” the Vicomte asked.
“One of our best men set out over an hour ago to obtain information,” the Duc replied. “He should not be long now.”
He looked at the Duke.
“How good is your French?”
“Very good – for an Englishman!” the Vicomte answered for him. “But not good enough for a Frenchman!”
“You will have to come from one of the Northern Provinces,” the Duc de St. Croix said. “And m’mselle?”
“Perfect!” the Vicomte said before Jabina could speak.
Jabina was just about to say that her mother had been half-French, when she remembered that she was supposed to be the Duke’s sister and bit back the words with an effort.
As if he was aware that she had nearly made a slip, the Duke looked at her with a smile and she smiled back at him.
She had the feeling that he was rather excited by what was happening, while on the other hand she was very apprehensive.
She had heard tales of the savagery of the French, the vengefulness they had exhibited in the countries they had conquered, and their callous indifference to the sufferings of the ordinary people.
She was sure that, if she and the Duke were taken to prison, they would be separated from each other and she was terrified at the thought of being shut away alone.
It was horrifying!
Once again she slipped her hand into the Duke’s and felt the warm strength of his fingers. It was very comforting.
“What I am thinking might be best for you – ” the Duc de St. Croix had begun when suddenly the door at the far end of the cavern opened and everyone turned towards it.
A thin middle-aged man came in looking, Jabina thought, rather like a superior clerk or perhaps a secretary to a Nobleman.
He was dressed in black and there was something about his whole appearance and the way in which he moved that made her sure that anything he undertook he would carry out precisely and intelligently with every attention to every detail.
He walked up to the trestle table where the Duc de St. Croix was seated, who said quickly,
“Any news, Mirmon?”
“Yes indeed, Monsieur le Duc,” the man answered. “The Marquis of Lorne has left for Switzerland disguised as a chambermaid employed by the wife of a Swiss Banker. There should be no difficulty in getting him over the frontier.”
“That is excellent!” the Duc de St. Croix said. “And there are vacancies at the Bureau?”
“Yes, Monsieur le Duc, and one in particular that should fit the lady and gentleman you have in mind.”
“What is it?” the Duc asked.
“General Delmas has been appointed Commander at Le Havre. He wishes to leave Paris tomorrow morning.”<
br />
It seemed to Jabina that everyone was listening breathlessly to the quiet voice.
“Yes?”
“He and Madame Delmas are unable to take with them their own valet and femme de chambre. Those in their service have several children. They have therefore requested two persons suitable for such employment to be furnished for them immediately.”
“Excellent!” the Duc de St. Croix said. “Armand, ask the clerk to prepare the papers. The Duke will have been invalided out of the Army and he can have been born in Normandy. That will account for his somewhat anglicised accent. M’mselle can be from Lyon or anywhere within a reasonable radius of Paris.”
The Vicomte left the trestle table to walk across the cavern to where at another table a man was obviously dealing with papers and travel documents.
“Excuse me, Monsieur le Duc,” the man called Mirmon then said.
“Yes, what is it?” the Duc de St. Croix enquired.
“The General has asked for a married couple. It would be best for the lady and gentleman to be married.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the Duc agreed. “There will be no difficulty in that, I suppose?”
“No difficulty,” the Duke answered.
Jabina held out her hand.
“My mother’s wedding ring is with the other jewellery,” she said to him in a low voice.
He looked down at her and she saw that there was a faint smile on his face. She knew that they were both thinking the same thing.
It was impossible for them to escape each other. Fate, circumstance, call it what you will, threw them together irrevocably as husband and wife!
Then, as the Duke took the little bag from his pocket and placed it in her hands, their fingers touched.
It was only by accident, only the faintest brush, and yet Jabina felt a sudden thrill run through her, a sensation such as she had never known before.
It was almost like a flame.
‘I love him!’ she thought to herself. ‘Whatever happens to us, it does not matter as long as we are together!’
CHAPTER SIX
Seated on the box of the travelling carriage, Jabina realised with interest that she could see so much better than if she was a passenger inside.
They had set off from the General’s house at eight o’clock in the morning and she felt as if she had already done several hours’ work before the trunks had finally been strapped and carried downstairs.
A multitude of small packages of articles that had been forgotten had been bundled into baskets and bags at the last moment and stowed away somewhere in the coach.
It certainly looked an impressive vehicle and one that could achieve the speed the General required of it.
From the moment Jabina and the Duke had met the General they had realised that he behaved like a despot accustomed to getting his own way in the shortest possible time.
Armed by the Royalists with their papers, they had walked from the narrow dirty street where the cavern was situated to the better part of Paris where they were to present themselves for employment.
If Jabina had not been so frightened at the thought of what would happen if they were exposed, she would have found their appearance amusing.
In the cavern she had undressed behind a screen and the ladies had redressed her in the clothes befitting a femme de chambre.
They were insistent that every detail should be correct.
The close-fitting black serge dress would have been ugly on anyone who had not such a perfect figure as Jabina’s. A white collar and small silk apron relieved its severity. A dark coarse straw bonnet covered her hair.
Her hair had given them quite a problem.
“The red is too alluring!” declared one of the ladies who was addressed by the others as ‘Comtesse’ and there was a touch of envy in her voice.
“That is true!” another agreed. “No good housekeeper would engage you if there were men in the house.”
They all laughed, but Jabina said anxiously,
“I suppose I could dye my hair?”
“There is no time,” the Comtesse replied. “Besides dyed hair always looks unnatural.”
Eventually after some discussion they had dragged Jabina’s hair back from her forehead and arranged it in a bun on top of her head.
They then dusted it with a dark powder that dulled the brilliance of the colour and left her looking definitely more subdued.
“Her skin is too white for a Frenchwoman!” the Comtesse complained and again Jabina thought her voice was envious.
The others said that this was ridiculous.
“Josephine Bonaparte has a white skin,” they said. “The English are not the only people in the world with fair complexions!”
It was then decided to concentrate on Jabina’s attire and hope that the General’s wife, in her hurry to reach Le Havre with her husband, would not notice her too closely.
Her shift was of thick calico, which was rough and tough. Her stockings were of black wool, and they had some difficulty in finding a suitable pair of shoes that were both sensible and small enough.
Finally the rest of the clothes she would have to wear were put into a wicker basket, which the ladies told her could be bought for a franc or so at any cheap shop in Paris.
There was a cotton dress to wear when she was working, a white mob cap which would at least cover her hair and a highly starched white apron.
“Don’t forget it’s your employer who provides your uniform,” the Comtesse said, “so Madame Delmas will not be surprised that you have so few things.”
Finally they provided Jabina with a travelling cloak that had obviously seen a great deal of wear.
“It belongs to my own femme de chambre,” one of the ladies said with a smile, “and here also are her gloves.”
“Did she not wonder why you wanted them?” a lady asked.
“I told her it was for les pauvres. The nuns are always collecting for the poor of Paris and, of course, I offered her replacements, the clothes that I had worn myself which she would obviously prefer.”
The ladies laughed.
When Jabina was ready, she came from behind the screen, having taken a last somewhat wistful look at her new green muslin gown, which she had worn for the first and last time.
She felt a little shy at seeing the Duke and wondered what he would think of her appearance. But when she saw him, she knew that she need endure no criticism from him.
He certainly looked extraordinary.
He was wearing the normal tight black breeches and closely buttoned coat of a Frenchman in service, but he also sported a patch over one eye.
As Jabina looked at him in astonishment, the Duke said with a smile,
“Armand thinks this is a very effective disguise. He does not believe that anyone would deliberately blind themselves.”
He laughed.
“Also the wound on the head that I received when we first met is now proving useful.”
Although in the last few days the wound had been mending fast, it now, Jabina saw, had been made to look far worse again.
The bruising round it had almost vanished, but there were still scabs where the doctor had sewed the cut with six stitches and which now seemed to blaze out on the Duke’s forehead above the patch over his eye.
There was no doubt that anyone seeing him would assume that he had been wounded in battle.
“Don’t forget,” the Comte said, as he prepared the papers, “that you have been discharged from the Army also owing to a bullet wound in your leg. Remember to limp slightly and not move too quickly.”
“I will do that,” the Duke agreed.
He picked up the papers that were handed to him and placed them in an inside pocket.
“Your names are Jacques and Maria Boucher,” the Comte continued.
“One thing has been forgotten,” the Duc de St. Croix interposed, “and a very important one.”
“What is that?” the Duke enquired.
“Your hands,�
�� the older man replied. “A number of aristocrats were captured during the Revolution simply because they forgot to disguise their hands.”
“Of course! I should have thought of it!” one of the ladies cried.
Producing a pair of nail scissors she took the Duke’s hand in hers and cut his nails very short.
“Now scratch your hands on the ground,” the Duc de St. Croix added. “That is an effective way of making them look rough and as if occasionally you did a little work!”
They all laughed, but Jabina knew that everything they said was in fact very serious.
The Vicomte looked at his watch.
“If you are ready,” he said, “I think that you should now be going to your interview with the General. It would be a mistake to let another couple get engaged ahead of you.”
“Yes, of course,” the Duke answered.
He held out his hand to the Duc de St. Croix.
“May I thank Your Grace for your kindness and help.”
“We don’t need thanks,” he said, “but if you can at any time, when you reach England, assist the Royalist cause, we should be more than grateful.”
“You know I will do anything in my power,” the Duke answered.
The Duc looked at the Vicomte.
“You have given His Grace the names of our Royalist agents in case they should be discovered before they reach Le Havre?”
“I have,” the Vicomte replied.
“You realise, I am sure, that you must turn to them for help only in an emergency?” the Duc said. “Every contact that is made with them by someone like yourselves exposes them to danger.”
“I am well aware of that,” the Duke answered.
“And another thing,” the Duc went on, “your only chance of getting back to England is, as you know, to contact the smugglers who will be crossing the Channel every night now that war has been declared.”
He smiled.
“Bonaparte of course, as he did before, will give them every possible facility because when they reach these shores they will bring him gold. But they will certainly not be allowed to carry passengers on the journey!”
“I realise that,” the Duke said.
72. The Impetuous Duchess Page 11