by A L Berridge
Jeanette glared fearlessly at him. ‘Monsieur, when I think what your sister has done for you …’
‘Leave us, Jeanette,’ I said quickly. ‘This is not your affair, please go.’
She hesitated, but I whispered ‘Please,’ and she turned reluctantly back up the stairs.
‘Have her watched,’ said Bouchard absent-mindedly. He was gazing into my bundle as if something there absorbed all his attention. ‘She’s no more trustworthy than her mistress.’
Florian finished my letter and stared at me in sickening reproach. ‘How could you, Anne? You betray us all.’
‘She hasn’t lied, anyway,’ said Bouchard, and I saw with a horror I cannot describe that he was holding my diary. ‘It’s only the grandmother who knows, and she’s no threat. D’Arsy swears she never got near the Cardinal last night, and no one’s going to believe her now.’
He read my diary. He read the whole entry too, for as he lifted his eyes from the pages he allowed them to drift over my body with an air of amused curiosity. He did not in the least mind that I saw him do it, but met my revulsion with an insufferably familiar nod.
‘Here,’ he said, passing the diary to Florian. ‘See what you’re keeping under your roof.’
Florian began to read. I said wretchedly ‘I haven’t lied. I mean you no harm, neither does André. What harm can it be if I go to him? Please, just let me go.’
He looked up, eyes dark with shock. ‘You wrote this? My sister wrote this?’
His hypocrisy was unbearable. I said ‘I kissed my fiancé, Florian, I’m not colluding with murderers.’
‘Neither am I,’ he said at once. ‘De Roland was only going to be abducted and kept out of the way, it’s his own fault people got killed.’
But his voice trailed away, and I saw the beginnings of doubt. I seized his hand and said ‘Florian, you know you can trust me, I’ve always defended you.’
Bouchard cut across me at once. ‘Like you did in your diary? Poor feeble-minded Florian?’
Florian’s weak little mouth hardened and my hope died. He said ‘Go to your room, Anne. I’ll decide what’s to be done with you later.’
‘Better lock it,’ said Bouchard. ‘We wouldn’t want her slipping out to see her lover, would we?’ He clapped on his hat and gave me a mocking little bow. ‘Don’t worry about de Roland, Mademoiselle. I’ll see he’s not kept waiting.’
Jacques Gilbert
She knew the time and gate, she even knew we were going with a troop column. Our only hope was she’d be in the Lapin Gris after all and the Comtesse had got it wrong.
We sent Grimauld. Anne would remember him, and if there were any kind of police about he’d spot them at once. André was sure there wouldn’t be, he insisted Anne was innocent of everything and the ambush was all down to Florian.
I said ‘And it was him kept you in that hut so long, was it? Or was that you?’
He hesitated. ‘I was going to leave but –’
‘She stopped you?’
It was too dark to see his face properly. ‘You don’t understand, a woman can’t fake something like that.’
I said wearily ‘If you say so.’
Footsteps running, one man, maybe two. Charlot took position by the gate, with me in the shadows opposite. André steered Bernadette behind the barrels.
The gate banged open, Grimauld shot skidding into the yard, and Charlot pounced on the stranger running behind. I sprang into the entrance, but there was no one else, I closed the gate and turned to see Charlot laying the man gently down on the stones. Even in the dark I could see the distinctive red breeches and blue coat of the Garde-Française.
‘Crawling with them,’ said Grimauld. ‘The whole tavern packed with police, and these buggers prowling round outside.’
I helped Charlot lug the unconscious Garde away from the gate. I didn’t want to look at André’s face.
He said ‘She must have been followed. She’s trapped inside, I’ve got to get her out.’
Grimauld spat. ‘She’s not there, laddie, not unless she’s grown a beard and put on eighty pounds. That’s all that’s waiting for you in that back room, I saw it through the window.’
The Garde seemed all right, he was breathing steadily. Behind me André said ‘They must have intercepted the letter.’
‘Christ in a chandelier,’ said Grimauld in exasperation. ‘I give it her myself, didn’t I?’
‘Then they can’t know,’ said André. ‘She’d never tell them, never …’
Grimauld hushed him, and then we all heard it. More footsteps, slower and quieter, one man in shoes. Charlot crept back to the gate, but this time it opened cautiously and the man who came in was de Chouy.
He looked subdued. ‘I say, I think there might be a problem with the gate.’
‘Shut?’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘They’ve just opened it. But a lot more fellows are turning up to join the sentries, I saw Garde-Française and Musketeers with lanterns. It looks awfully as if they’re going to check the column.’
‘They are,’ I said bitterly. ‘We’re expected.’
André was standing with his head down, and when he lifted it I had to look away. Anne was the one little bit he’d been able to salvage from his life, and now he’d lost that too.
He said ‘You’re right. I can’t go out that way.’ He didn’t even sound like he cared.
In the distance we heard the hooves of the approaching column. None of us moved, we just stood and listened to a rescue operation that had suddenly lost all point.
Bernadette brushed down her dress. ‘What must I do, Chevalier?’
He dragged his head round to look at her. ‘Jacques can still take you. They’re not looking for you, you’ll be quite safe.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I mean what must we do to help you escape?’
He stared at her, but she looked back quite calmly, waiting for him to tell her his plan.
The van of the column was approaching the yard, and a moment later the gate pushed open to admit an elegant regimental officer.
‘All here?’ he said briskly. ‘Good. I’m Danthan. The domestics can travel with my own, the gentlemen will ride with me, and I’ve another wagon for the woman. Everyone ready?’
André was still staring at Bernadette. Then he took off his hat, chucked it to Charlot and gave Danthan a little bow. ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘There’s been a change of plan.’
Bernadette Fournier
The officer was clearly embarrassed at placing a woman of my apparent station with prostitutes, but in truth it did not trouble me. I was born in the army, Monsieur, and my mother had been happy there. I knew about such things.
These were the common women, not personal whores as my mother had been, but they did not seem to resent me. One even said ‘He must love you very much, your man, for such measures to be taken,’ and her face shone with happiness that a fellow woman should enjoy such fortune. I realized they believed me to be part of an elopement, and wished with all my heart that I were.
The wagon stopped as we neared the gate, and an older woman pulled back the canvas to see the cause of the delay. I was glad to see how close I was to the driver, for the Chevalier had said it was all down to me. I thought what little cause he had to trust any woman ever again and felt nothing but determination as I stroked the pistol hidden in my wrap.
‘Why, they’re searching us, girls!’ said the older woman. ‘Lanterns to every face. Imagine when they reach Mme de Mauban!’
There was much laughter at this, but then one woman said in a voice suddenly hushed ‘It’s de Roland, isn’t it? Why else would they go to such lengths? Your man is André de Roland.’
I said quickly ‘Is it likely, Mesdames, a woman like me?’ but no one laughed. Then the older woman reached out and twitched aside my cloak, revealing the fine gown of last night underneath.
‘Perhaps it is,’ she said. ‘Or perhaps there are two noblemen in this city pursued by every guard this side o
f the Seine?’
Further denial would have been foolish when they knew the truth as well as our enemies who were searching outside. I said only ‘He is not in the train.’
Their eyes seemed to glisten in the dark. Then a little dark woman leaned forward and whispered ‘So it’s true? He cares about people like us, as they say? It’s true?’
I would not pretend to women my own kind. I said ‘He is not my lover. But let me tell you how I first met the Chevalier and you shall tell me if he cares.’
So I told the whole story of that first day and what he had done. They listened with mouths open, and all the while I watched through the gap in the canvas and saw how every man was scrutinized under the lantern before he was allowed to pass. As I finished we were almost at the gate, and there was our officer being examined, the one who was Richelieu’s créature, and after him came my own Jacques. The guard clearly recognized him, for a smile of satisfaction appeared on his bony face as he guessed the Chevalier must be nearby. The lantern was swung with eagerness to Jacques’ neighbour, but it was only Charlot and the light passed to the next man with a droop of disappointment.
‘You’re fortunate, Mademoiselle,’ said the older woman. ‘I’ve lived thirty years in this world and the most a man’s ever given me is pox.’
The back canvas was ripped aside and a lantern shone among us as it came our own turn to be searched. They were serious about it too, for one of the guards climbed clear into the wagon for a better look, despite the abuse he had of us for his reward. The little dark woman thrust his hand down her dress and said ‘What do you think, Sieur, you think I might be a man?’ There was much laughter and ribaldry, but through the open canvas at our back I glimpsed the servants’ wagon stopped behind our own, with Grimauld himself sat boldly beside the driver. He was watching our search, and across the heads of the cackling women our eyes met.
Our guard left us in embarrassed haste, our wagon moved on, and beneath us the wheels changed to a deeper rumble as we crossed the moat. My hand grasped the pistol, for now was when it must happen. We were far enough away for a watching man to see what the crush had so far concealed, and my body tensed with expectation.
My heart jumped at the shout, and I strained my neck to look again through the rear canvas. The servants’ wagon behind us blocked the gateway as it was searched, but to one side stood a figure in the uniform of the Garde-Française pointing his sword at our retreating vehicle. He shouted again ‘There! Man under that wagon!’
Guards ran from the gate in pursuit, and our wagon slowed as the driver looked behind. I reached through the canvas, dug the pistol into his side, and said ‘Drive faster.’
His eyes dropped to the gun then lifted to my face in astonishment. ‘They’re telling us to stop.’
I prodded the gun into his ribs and said again ‘Drive faster!’
He hesitated, but behind me the opening was now crowded with other women, and the oldest said ‘It’s de Roland, Jean. Do as she says.’
He turned again to face forward. ‘Put your gun away, fifille. Drive faster it is.’
Jacques Gilbert
She was only just in time. The guards were halfway over the bridge when the wagon gave a great lurch and started to rattle faster down the Faubourg, scattering our cavalry to either side. But it couldn’t last long. As Grimauld’s wagon cleared the gate, the bottleneck opened behind it and mounted guards began to clatter through after those on foot, all waving and shouting ‘Stop!’
A church, we needed a church, André had said the first we came to. A spire was coming up behind houses on our left, I couldn’t see an entrance but it would have to do. Bernadette’s wagon was already slowing, I let Grimauld’s draw closer behind it, then turned to Danthan and yelled ‘Now!’
Danthan nodded, then urged his cavalry to close round both wagons, screening them from the pursuing guards by a thick ring of his own men. I saw with relief Bernadette was staying put, and knew her companions had decided to help.
But the servants’ wagon was slowing, and Danthan’s cavalry beginning to overtake it, we’d got to get clear before our screen disappeared. Charlot was already wheeling in tight to the driver’s box, I dug hard in the stirrups and leaned over behind him, then Grimauld rose to a crouch on his seat, Charlot reached out his arm and –
Albert Grimauld
– pulled me off like a giant lifting a baby, he hoiked me over his horse’s neck and down on the ground, hooves and wheels pounding all round me, oh my word. Gilbert dragged me tight to his horse’s flank, then ‘Now,’ he says, and makes the animal up and ruddy rear, shoving me smack under it to the side of the road. I’m clear of the cavalry, clear of the wagons, but here’s them mounted guards pelting up to join the party, so it’s whoops and the old quick turn then I’m off and running, head down and legs pumping to get me to that church.
‘There he goes,’ yells Gilbert, and others take up the cry like hunting noblemen. I hear some taking off after me, but they’re no match for a man used to be in my line of work, and never you mind what that was, what matters is I know how to run. I spring over that wall and into Saint-Laurent, and that gives the buggers pause, thank you, I’m in sanctuary and thumbing my nose and they knows it.
So I’m up and along the whole length of the ruddy building, then there’s a handy side door and I’m shooting sharp out of it, round the front, over another wall, then it’s off with the black cloak and hat and stroll round the corner back to the column, Grimauld the harmless artisan coming to gawp at a bunch of soldiers playing silly games on the Rue Saint-Martin.
Bernadette Fournier
Many of the guards turned off straight after Grimauld, but others hastened to surround us and demanded angrily of my driver why he had not stopped. We had a plan for this, Monsieur, I was to have dropped and fled with Jacques so my driver could claim he had been threatened, but he said he was more than equal to a pack of red-legs, and so indeed he proved.
‘How could I stop with you spooking my horses?’ he said, sounding quite as angry as they. ‘Running after us and shouting, no wonder the poor beasts legged it. I stopped as soon as I could, didn’t I?’
The guards were ill content, and still insisted on poking beneath our wagon, but it was obvious to everyone that the fugitive had already escaped into the church, and after only a brief inspection they left us to join their fellows surrounding Saint-Laurent. Only one seemed unconvinced, the Garde-Française who had first given the alarm and now reached up to mount and join us inside.
The women gave groans of derision, and the small dark one said ‘How many times, boy? Would you like to search my fanny in case your fugitive is hiding inside?’
The Garde said gravely ‘You honour me, Madame,’ then turned to me and said ‘Well done, Bernadette. Do you think your driver might go on now?’
I asked Jean to continue, but when I turned back to the interior the women were all staring in total bewilderment.
I said ‘Mesdames, it is my honour to introduce to you André, Chevalier de Roland.’
Jacques Gilbert
We left the column just north of the Faubourg, picked up Grimauld at the crossroads, and rode together to the farmhouse where we were to meet my grandmother.
It was only a small farm, fields of parsnips and straggly artichokes, and orchards of apples and pears, but it belonged to the Rolands and was where our vegetables came from every day. The people were certainly welcoming, and when André introduced himself they threw the door open for all of us, even Grimauld, who looked like something you’d want to chuck stones at till it went away. It was a pity de Chouy had stayed behind, he was much the most respectable, but André wanted someone to make sure that Garde was all right when he came round and found himself stuck in a cooper’s yard without his uniform.
They were good people, the Porchiers, a middle-aged couple with three strapping boys who all had the same hair and voices so it was hard to tell them apart. They didn’t ask any questions, not even with André dressed lik
e a Garde-Française, they just gave us bowls of leek soup and sat us down by the fire to wait for the Comtesse in peace and quiet.
It was the oddest sort of lull, like waiting between one life ending and another beginning. André gazed into the fire with eyes that didn’t blink, and I don’t know what he was seeing, he’d lost too much for me to guess. I remember saying ‘You’ve still got me,’ and he gripped my hand and said ‘I know.’ Bernadette sat on the floor leaning against my legs like a cat, and I remember thinking none of the other stuff mattered really, I’d settle for this, what I’d got right now.
Then the Comtesse arrived. She raised her eyebrows at André’s uniform, blinked at Bernadette’s informality, and recoiled at the sight of Grimauld, but otherwise she was her usual self and not in the least surprised or impressed that we’d made it. She dispatched Bernadette and Grimauld to assist in the kitchen, then sat down with determination and we knew she’d got something to say.
She got straight to the point. ‘His Eminence has spoken to the King and the situation is as we feared. There are formidable witnesses ranged against us, condemnation is inevitable, and the sentence can only be for death.’
André sat with his elbows on the table, the sleeves of the Garde’s coat flopping down his arms. He laced his hands together tightly and lowered his head.
I said ‘What charge?’
‘Murder,’ she said, with a kind of bitter lightness. ‘They claim the Chevalier killed a Musketeer who tried to stop him duelling. Bouchard’s friends have volunteered evidence to that effect, and it is given credibility by the fact the Chevalier has already publicly issued two challenges in Paris. You are said to have been his second, but no one blames an aide for defending his master. The Chevalier has no such excuse, and will lose both his life and his property.’
André’s head was still down. ‘Then it’s lucky I don’t have anything. Even Dax is in my uncle’s name.’
‘Now it is,’ said the Comtesse. ‘But do you not realize he could die at any moment? If it happens while you are under this sentence then everything will be confiscated. His house, the Auvergne estates, the farms, Dax, everything. You are his sole heir.’