by Joan Smith
Degan added his voice in English. “I have a gun. Have you got a rope to haul it up?”
“No. Oh God, someone’s...” The face disappeared from the window, and the two ran for the shadows. Within minutes a garde came into the courtyard to look around, but in a lackadaisical way. He carried a torch, which he set up on a stand. Grabbing Degan’s hand, Minou scuttled back through the alley by which they had entered.
Degan didn’t feel they had accomplished much except risk their necks, but she was optimistic. “Tomorrow night we go with a ladder and hammer and pull off the bars to rescue him. There must be a ladder nearby that they used to put up the bars. We should have looked for it, all that time we stood doing nothing. No matter—Henri will now have hope. He will understand we are coming and be prepared for us.”
It seemed more than likely this warning would cause torches and guards to be in the yard the next night, but Degan did not want to discourage her, and went along with her optimistic talk.
“Now we know where he is; we know he is not so closely guarded. There has as yet been no announcement of his execution, so he is not in imminent danger. They amuse the crowds a few days with the Commune and other henchmen, then make a special show of Henri and that other nobleman they have got lined up. They like noblemen for victims; it reminds the people what this Revolution was all about in the first place. It was never the plan to go massacring the whole country, but only the aristos. It doesn’t matter to them that Henri left France when he was eighteen, and for three years before that lived with Grandpère doing nothing more awful than attending school and teaching me to ride. He is a Virais, and he must die for the sins of his father’s family, whatever they were.”
“We’d better try to find somewhere to sleep,” Degan suggested, every bone in his body aching from all their walking and other adventures.
“Another long haul for us, mon ami,” she agreed. “We daren’t put up anywhere downtown, for no doubt that pair of dumb oxen that were looking for us today are still nosing about.”
They went north till they could walk no longer, then took a room at a rundown little inn. There was no mention of anyone sleeping on the floor. They fell onto the bed together, hardly able to talk from fatigue, and were soon asleep in the comfort of each other’s arms.
Chapter Twenty-one
There was really nothing to do all the next long day. Their task could not begin till darkness fell. They sat for part of the morning in their room after a hasty outing to buy bread and papers. The Terrorists now were in command of the country, vowing to purge the Tribunal of everyone connected with Robespierre. Thirty of his associates were scheduled for execution the next day. “Why none today?” Degan asked.
“Maybe they have to sharpen the blade, and have time to dig the graves,” Minou said. “Even for such work as this there is a practical, routine side to be considered. Nothing about Henri,” she commented, glancing down the page. “Ah—here it is. Two paragraphs only. I’ll save it to show him. How insulted he will be to know that is all he rated. Maybe other papers gave him more space.”
To get some fresh air and sunshine they went out for a long walk in the afternoon, making the discovery that there was cooked meat for sale at some shops—roast pork, to avoid the maximum price on raw meat. It would have been a wonderful change from cheese, but they were reluctant to apply for ration coupons, which were necessary to buy from the shops. It was cheese again.
They strolled along the Seine, Minou mentioning happier times, and Degan trying to beguile her into peace with some memories of his own earlier years. They scarcely glanced at the dozens of architectural features along this famous promenade. As afternoon drew to a close, they walked toward the rue St.-Honoré, along to the next street and down toward their alley. A mutt, his skeleton showing through his hide, was coming out of it. “I’ll chase him in and get a look at what’s going on there,” Minou said, and clapped her hands at the dog, chasing him back into the alley. She got right into the courtyard, and took a good look around, making a game of chasing the dog.
There was no one to see her, but a window might be occupied. The yard had been unguarded all day, she assumed. The dog ran back to the tree where she had hidden the night before, and behind it, at the back of the yard, was a long ladder. She hopped happily away, the dog forgotten, to meet Degan coming in after her.
“I found an excellent ladder!” she told him. The scold he had been preparing died on his lips. “Good! Any sign of action?”
“No, they are careless of the back. They must think we have abandoned any thought of rescuing him. It is to our advantage. Come, Pierre, we celebrate with a glass of eau-de-vie. Also it will give us false courage. It is the only kind we will have, I think.”
“You have a great deal of the genuine thing.”
“I? I would be running as fast as I could for the Channel if it weren’t for you. You are all that keeps me going.”
“Let’s get that eau-de-vie. It’s very effective, isn’t it?”
“Have I corrupted the Incorruptible?” she asked, laughing and well pleased with her accomplishment.
“No, just rubbed a bit of his self-righteousness off him.”
They walked along several blocks, finding another out-of-the-way place, of which there were many, in which to have their false courage, lingering till darkness had fallen. Then it was back to the streets, back to the alley behind the temporary prison, for a careful scrutiny of the yard. It was not raining, but there was a strong wind blowing up, and consequently most of the windows were closed. Henri’s was wide open, however. Minou stood well back in the shadow and gave her triple signal. A hand came through the slats, waving.
“Get the ladder,” she said to Degan, who had already been busy to find it.
“Shouldn’t we wait till later?” he asked.
“Strike while the iron is hot. There is no one about now.”
“I’ll put it up, then go out front and create a diversion to cover the sound of his pulling off those window boards.”
“And make it necessary that we come back to free you? Non, mon ami, your elegant name will not free you. Robespierre has been executed; he is no longer of any influence. You will stand with that gun pointed at anyone who comes out while I steady the ladder for him. Now, we go.”
They took a deep breath and went, carrying the ladder between them, putting it to the window as quietly as possible. Henri, as Minou had foreseen, was ready for them. The boards were already loosened from his having struggled with them all day. Soon he was easing them off and sliding them in through the window to place on the floor.
Next a pair of feet came out the window, and Henri began his perilous descent. This was the most dangerous moment. If a garde came out and saw him, he would certainly shoot first and ask questions later. Degan stood with his gun ready, his heart in his mouth, but no one interrupted them. In three minutes the thing was done, without a hitch. Mérigot was again a member of their party.
“Run like hell, Minou,” were the first words he said. He grabbed one of her hands, Degan the other, and together the three dashed down the alley into the street, running away from the center of town, vaguely northeast in the direction of the Maison Belhomme. They were required to slacken their pace occasionally when they saw someone coming, but they made good time. When they felt they had put themselves beyond immediate capture, they slowed down. It was generally agreed among them that they had earned a bottle of the country’s best champagne after their nervous work, but they were too frightened to enter any place where they could obtain it.
They stuck to the back streets, entering nowhere, while Henri told them of his recent adventures—the arrest at the Hôtel des Hosiers, how he had told the garde he was traveling with a boxer and his girl, neither of whom knew his true identity. “I knew they would go looking for you, but trusted Minou would have the wits to say exactly what I had said myself.”
“But of course,” she told him. “Degan had more wits, Henri. He sneaked us out a
window before the gardes could find us, for with his awful French, you know, he would have been tossed into prison for a spy at once.”
“I was half afraid Degan was done for,” Henri admitted. “Your salvation was that the proprietor gave you a warning. I wonder why he did it.”
“You forget Agnès Maillard was of our party at the time,” Sally informed them. “He had been giving her certain looks since the arrival.”
“I see you are François again. That too was wise,” Henri complimented them.
“Don’t think you are the only one with brains,” Minou said. “We have been up to all sorts of things. How I have maligned you, too. Calling you rat and pig and every bad name I could put my tongue to.” She related to him some of their adventures, causing him to think he had been the better off of the three the past days.
“Where did you sleep?” he asked at last.
“Who slept? We stayed together in a room, trembling in our boots, and took turns standing guard, while the other tried to rest,” she answered, just a little reluctant to inform her brother of certain episodes. “Oh, and I told Pierre all about you.”
“Who is Pierre?” Henri asked.
“I mean Degan. He has a French name—is not that odd?”
“Much about our friend Degan surprises me,” Henri admitted, with a warm grip on Degan’s arm. “And pleases me. Oh, and something will displease you, Degan. They took all your beautiful gold. Foolish of me to have kept most of it myself. How much have we left?”
Degan shrugged. “Too bad, but it’s only money. We have about the equivalent of two pounds. I had to give most of it to your mother.” He went on to tell Henri of Edward’s illness.
“I must go to see them at once,” Henri said. “I lost their cartes civiles, by the way. The spares I brought with me from London, for them to use to get out the barricade. We’ll have to think of something else.”
Not even this could daunt their spirits. They were merry all the way to the rue de Charonne.
“It would be best for you to get out of Paris immediately, Henry,” Degan mentioned. “Tonight, I mean.”
“Leave Mama and the others behind? Never!”
“Our chances of getting away would be better without the comte de Virais in our party,” Degan continued. This, he knew, was his only chance of getting Henry away from Paris, as must certainly be done.
“Maybe you have something there. I have no card, no money, nothing. It will be difficult,” Henri said, his mind already dealing with these little impediments.
“Mama will give you some money,” Minou said. “And about a card, we have some extras.”
“One extra, mon chou, and I do not think I would make a convincing Agnès Maillard.”
“Take mine,” Degan offered. “You must get out tonight. I have a few days to find one somewhere.”
“He means steal,” Minou translated proudly to her half brother.
“He comes on quickly, this one,” Henri congratulated. Degan felt as though he had been highly honored. “Steal three while you are about it, Pierre. One for Mama and another for Édouard.”
“We will contrive, Henri. My Degan is an excellent contriver,” she said.
“You are contriving rather well yourself, minx. I see you have contrived to put yourself in possession of Le Taureau.”
“Yes, I forgot to tell you, we are engaged.”
“Félicitations, tous les deux. I welcome you as half a brother-in-law. How much farther to the asylum? I’m bushed.”
“Pooh, you are out of shape. We have been running along the streets for forty-eight hours, Degan and I. We have become a couple of racehorses. This is nothing,” Minou boasted.
“You two racehorses any good at a steeplechase?” he asked. “Come, we take the shortcuts,” he decreed, and they were off through back yards, over fences and through hedges, with no more thought of privacy than if they were a pack of hounds. Henri entertained them as they went.
“Know what I heard in prison? A ghastly thing. They had that woman who ran the waxworks—Tussaud was her name—in prison, and made her make wax statues of the great ones executed. They used the severed head for the mask of the face. She had done some statues for the royal family, that was her crime. I bet they intended to have her do me.”
“You flatter yourself. You rated two small paragraphs in the newspapers,” his sister said to deflate him.
“That proves how important I am. News of my arrest was leaked. They meant to get out a special issue after the Commune members were beheaded, especially to renew interest in the national show.”
“You see how vain he is?” Minou told Degan. “He will be dashing back if we don’t hold onto his coattails. A whole act to himself; it is irresistible to such as he.”
“You rescued me only to prevent my moment of glory,” he told her.
They reached the asylum in a very short space of time. It was decided Degan would remain outside with Minou. Henri was warmly received and was inside for an hour. When he came out, he said, “I have arranged for Mama and Édouard to leave tomorrow night. I am to have a cart or carriage waiting at the deserted convent of Picpus after dark.”
“Where’s that?” Degan asked.
“Just at the edge of the Faubourg St.-Antoine, where they had the guillotine set up earlier. Minou knows where it is. Go out by the Barrière du Trône; it is the closest exit. I mean to go that way myself tonight. It is an isolated area, with a better chance of success for us.”
“Is Édouard well enough to travel?” Minou asked.
“He will be. It is madness to linger a moment longer than necessary. Better a little setback to his health than to lose his head. That is very hard to remedy, that malady. The Terrorists have taken over completely. There are some among them who want the Terror stopped, but at the moment it proceeds at top pace. I leave you two with plenty of contriving to do. You must get cards and if possible a mule or horse for Édouard. Mama says the late afternoon just before dinner when they are in the orchard is the best time to slip away. She will take Édouard out to sit for fresh air, and we must all pray it doesn’t decide to pour rain.”
“What do we do in the afternoon?” Degan inquired. “Just wait around and meet them, or go in and help them escape?”
“I told her you would wait a block away, a block north. They’ll make a dash for it and join you. And now it is time for me to leave you. I got a hundred pounds from Mama for the hire of a carriage and whatever I need—it will see us home, I hope. Have you enough to last one more day?”
“Plenty—two whole pounds,” Minou assured him.
“Good. Then I’m off. Ah—did I remember to thank you two for calling on me this evening? Delightful visit. We must do this again soon. Let me know in advance, and I will have some wine chilled to welcome you. Au revoir.”
Degan handed him the card of Philippe Ferrier, and Minou threw her arms around his neck. “God be with you, my dear Henri,” she said, clinging to him a moment.
“I wish you two the same. I hope He really has this power of being everywhere at once. His presence is also requested at the Maison Belhomme with Mama and Édouard. Goodbye, Degan, mon ami. Take good care of our little girl. I know I leave her in capable hands. I misjudged you. I am sorry—and also delighted, of course, ça va sans dire. À bientôt.”
The men clasped hands firmly. “Take care of yourself, Henri,” Degan said.
They parted with a last wave, all wondering if they would ever meet again.
“How can we check into a hotel for the night without any identification for you?” Minou asked. “It is dangerous. One never knows when they will ask for the card.”
“Have you ever slept outdoors?” he asked.
“Me, I am very happy in a hayrick, you will recall, but where are we to find one in Paris?”
“There is that elegant abandoned shack we changed in yesterday morning. I doubt the bugs and worms will want to have a look at my card. What do you say?”
“Splendid. Why d
id not I think of that? You are spoiling me, Degan. With you to take such good care of me, my brain is going soft. Come, let us go. We’ll be the fastest steeds in England by the time we get home.”
They found a similar sort of shack closer than the one formerly used. They stopped at the first one they came to, and finding it empty, put the spare outfits on the ground for a cover, and sat leaning against the shack’s wall with their heads together, feeling not deprived of anything, but relatively easy in their minds with Henry’s neck out of the guillotine, Édouard recovering, and the lure of leaving this pestilential city within twenty-four hours, provided of course they could steal three cartes civiles, beg, borrow or steal a mule, and remain unarrested, and provided it didn’t rain.
“When we get home,” Minou said, “I am going to submerge myself into a tub of water and soak for three days, eating as fast as I can the whole time.”
“Just as you did the night you arrived,” Degan reminded her.
“But no, I had only a short bath that night, with Papa sending up for me every five minutes. This time I mean to remain till my skin is all wrinkled up like a prune. How long ago that all seems! And you, vaurien, telling me I would catch hydrophobia to eat without washing. I bet it was you sent word up to hurry me, and me with still sixteen layers of grime on me. How I wanted to shake you up!”
“You did, when you came into the saloon wearing that exquisite golden curtain, and very little else.”
“I wore Miss Pringle’s petticoats, and somebody’s stockings.”
“True, and very chic they looked, but you weren’t wearing the curtain from the waist up there at one point.”
“I think I shocked you, Degan. Did I?”
“You did, and I realize now it was your intention—épater les bourgeois, as you say.”
“That sounded almost French, that last speech. The tongue thaws out. But the gown fell quite by accident. I didn’t do it on purpose. I am not that bold. You don’t find me fast, I hope!”
“Just right for me.”