by A L Berridge
His face blurred in front of me, I saw only the whiteness of his dressing and the thickness of his swollen lips. My father was speaking, I heard him exclaim on the magnanimity of Monseigneur, but his voice seemed to come to me from a great distance.
Bouchard didn’t even look at him. ‘Well, Mademoiselle? Let’s see the worth of those words. Do you accept?’
I had an alternative. I could leave the house that moment, go back to André, travel to England, and marry him there. Yet he would always be disgraced, always an exile, and to save him I had only to tell one more little lie.
I said ‘Yes, Monseigneur. I accept.’
Jacques de Roland
Philibert reported that she was home safe, but he also brought a note. André shot off with it at once, of course, but Philibert told us what was in it, he’d got the whole story from Jeanette.
We all knew it was good news. Crespin thought it was a wonderful coup, Stefan was laughing in admiration, even Bernadette nodded approvingly and said Anne was a clever lady. Then we looked back at the house where André had gone and went quiet.
I went in after him. He wasn’t banging up and down or anything, just sitting on the edge of the bed with the letter in his hands like he was still reading it. I watched him for a minute, then said ‘André?’
He looked up. ‘You’ve heard then?’
‘It’s brilliant, isn’t it?’ I said quickly. ‘They’ll really trust her now.’
‘That’s right,’ he said, and looked at the letter again. ‘And she’s not really going to marry him, it’s only pretend. We’ll have her out long before it comes to that.’
‘Of course.’
He nodded. ‘It won’t matter, them being betrothed. They won’t be alone together, he won’t get a chance to … do anything. He won’t touch her.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s not what he’s after anyway, he’s only doing this to –’
‘I know why he’s doing it,’ he said. ‘I know why he’s bloody doing it.’
I couldn’t think of a word to say.
He didn’t seem to expect it. He stood up, stowed the letter carefully in his coat, and said ‘Promise me one thing, won’t you? When it comes to it, nobody kills him but me.’
Twenty-Three
Jacques de Roland
We stayed at the Porchiers’ to wait it out. We kept a guard on the track in case anyone came looking, but no one ever did. Bouchard probably thought the lackeys had just run off with his money, and I suppose the authorities assumed André was out of the country and gone.
We lived together in the barn, and that was good actually, it was like being back at the Hermitage. Stefan took turns on guard, Charlot came to help when his shoulder was better, and best of all I’d got Bernadette by my side. Grimauld couldn’t do much, one of his legs had healed wonky so he couldn’t stand long, but he made André laugh and helped him through the waiting, and that was worth a lot.
He was really chafing, the boy, he got worse all through spring. Anne’s letters said the betrothal didn’t make any difference and she hardly saw Bouchard at all, but he hated even the thought of it. If it had been anything else he’d have just stormed back into Paris and grabbed her, but the treaty was his only hope of justice and he’d simply got to get it.
Everything was concentrated on the signing of that treaty. We knew d’Estrada would be there, so André had us working on our fence for hours every day, always with two swords or a main-gauche to teach ourselves how to face a left-handed attack. We knew it might be in enemy territory, so André got Gaspard to give us half a dozen volunteers from his family’s estate and asked Stefan to train them to the musket. I watched him in the woods one day drilling a nervous bunch of gardeners, and it felt like 1636 all over again.
The Comte paid for it all. I’m not sure how much he believed in what we were doing, he might have just been trying to make up for the amende honorable, but he gave the Comtesse cash every week and I used to sneak in to visit her hidden in the Porchiers’ vegetable cart. She always knew what was for supper from the way I smelt when I walked in, but she didn’t care as long as I brought her news. I kept saying ‘Maybe we’ll hear tomorrow.’
Those bloody tomorrows, I smelt each of them in turn in that vegetable cart. The sprouts and beetroot went first, then the radishes and salad leaves, then May brought the peas and beans. The situation in Flanders was hotting up, but the King was ignoring it to throw everything at Roussillon and everyone wondered why. Richelieu might have pressed him, but he was lying ill at Narbonne and out of things entirely. All we’d got were Gramont and Harcourt wandering round Champagne doing nothing while Spain was mopping up Lens then going on to lay siege to La Bassée. We kept saying ‘Why aren’t we stopping them, why aren’t we bringing them to battle?’ and then of course we finally did.
The news hit Paris on the 28th of May and everything went silent with shock. Honnecourt was a massacre. We’d got a victorious Spanish army less than five miles from Le Câtelet and we heard people muttering about the year of Corbie everywhere we went. Even the Porchiers were asking if the Spaniards were coming, and all André could say was ‘They won’t till they’re invited.’ He didn’t point out that they were obviously expecting it any day.
We all felt completely hopeless. Charlot even wondered if the treaty had already been signed and we’d missed it. André didn’t say anything, but I don’t think he slept much that night. When I crept out for my turn on duty he was still sitting with his arms hugged round his knees and staring blindly into the dark.
It was a cold dawn. I was smacking my arms against myself to warm up when I heard fast hooves turning down the track and there was Gaspard riding right up to my lookout tree. I slithered down in panic because I knew what that meant. Anne had put the signal out, she’d dropped a message, she was in danger, we’d got to get her out right now.
But Gaspard was smiling. He looked kindly down at me grovelling at his horse’s feet and said ‘My friend, we have a letter.’
Anne du Pré
Extract from a letter to André de Roland, dated 29 May 1642
My very dearest,
We have it at last. This latest victory is all the Spaniards have been waiting for, and we are to join Don Miguel at his lodging near Honnecourt from the 7th of June. I do not know where exactly, we are to be given directions at the village of Éspehy, but I can pass them to you then, my darling, because I go with them. Don Miguel has asked for me himself and my detestable fiancé is delighted. He thinks to show me off to his friends, and little suspects it will be the last time I ever have to endure his company.
Now it is so nearly over I can admit how wearisome I have found it. I have always told him our marriage cannot be thought of until he has what he calls his proper title, but he is becoming increasingly less tolerant of this answer. But now it does not matter, I can even agree to a date if he wishes, for I will not be here to honour it. Instead I shall be with you …
Jacques de Roland
André went thrashing up and down the barn smacking his sword against his leg and saying ‘This is it, Jacques, this is bloody it.’ I agreed. The treaty was going to be signed, we’d soon know where, all we’d got to do was break in and get it out.
But Anne was a worry. We needed her to lead us right to the house, but no one liked the idea of her being alone with the enemy and maybe getting stranded if it came to a battle. Philibert couldn’t help, they’d never let Jeanette bring a follower on something this private, we’d got to find someone else.
‘It needs to be a woman,’ said Bernadette. She was sat cross-legged in the straw sewing up a rip in my shirt with hundreds of neat little stitches. ‘Someone who can be in her very bedchamber.’ She sucked at a bead of blood on her finger and considered. ‘I think it had better be me.’
André stared at the top of her head. ‘Bouchard might recognize you. Florian himself …’
She tied the thread in a knot and bit off the end with her teeth. ‘Not if I were her personal
maid and stayed in her room. If I were there she would have a companion who can climb out of a window or shoot a musket at need. If I were there she would be quite safe.’
‘But you wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘I’m not having it.’
She gave me that complicated woman’s smile that means you can’t trust a word they’re saying. ‘Naturally you are not, since it is the one way to guarantee Mademoiselle’s safety and the treaty for the Chevalier. Naturally you will put your love for me first.’
If there was a right answer to that I couldn’t see it, but André just laughed. ‘Oh sweetheart, of course we want Anne safe, but you must know we won’t put you in danger.’
‘Perhaps I do,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I know what you have done to avoid that already. Do you think it is only men who honour their obligations?’
We said ‘No’ very quickly.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then it is agreed I will go.’
I’ve never known how to argue with women. But she was right this time, so we sent her off with Philibert and by evening she was Anne’s new femme de chambre, hired to accompany her on the journey.
It did seem safe. We’d be just outside the whole time, no Spaniards were going to go pouncing on them with us around. We didn’t worry about them inside either, not considering who their host was going to be. We knew the women were safe with d’Estrada.
Carlos Corvacho
My Capitán would never countenance disrespect to a lady, Señor, least of all this one. He’d always had what I’d call a soft spot for your Mlle Anne, right back to the days at the château when she was sat mousy-quiet with her embroidery and never missing the littlest thing.
But in a manner of speaking that’s what put us on to her, my gentleman thinking highly of her as he did. He sends her an invitation to join her father and brother at the house party, but bless me, what comes back but a letter from Bouchard saying he’ll bring her himself as she’s now his betrothed wife. My gentleman quite forgets himself and lets out a little oath, which was most unlike him, most.
‘What the devil?’ he says to me. ‘A girl like that consenting to marry this Bouchard?’
I brought him his coffee. We’d an Arab servant used to make it for us, Señor, it was my Capitán’s latest fancy. I said ‘It’ll be his rank, Señor, he’s a better match than she’d anywise hope to aim for.’
‘Rank!’ says my Capitán. ‘Anne du Pré sell her country for a title? Her family must be forcing her into it.’
Now I won’t say I’d my gentleman’s knowledge of women, but I’d seen this one controlling her weak-minded brother more times than I can rightly speak to. I said ‘As you say, Señor, but I’d think she’s some purpose of her own or she wouldn’t be doing it at all.’
My gentleman stops with the cup halfway to his lips. ‘You’re right,’ he says, and puts it back down. ‘She’s up to something, she must be.’
He springs to his feet and prowls about the floor. It was a good, big house we’d the use of, Señor, and not a speck of damage from the battle, saving maybe a wee bit of looting inside. We were only borrowing it as a base, you’ll understand, my Capitán being left to keep watch round Honnecourt in case the French tried to creep back.
‘De Roland,’ says my gentleman. ‘She loved him, didn’t she?’
I told him what I’d heard of the amende honorable and let him make his own judgement. My gentleman wouldn’t hear a word about it before, but he listened now and rubbed his hand up and down his cheek.
‘And there’s another puzzle. A man like de Roland could never endure such a thing, and yet Bouchard’s still alive. What’s he waiting for, Carlos? The chance to clear his name? And if Mlle du Pré is helping him …’
I saw the way his mind was going, and can’t say I liked it. ‘Maybe we should rethink a little, Señor, and suggest she visits another time.’
‘Uninvite a lady?’ That was my gentleman, chivalrous to a fault and maybe a little over. ‘On the contrary, we’ll give her complete freedom the whole time of her stay.’
‘And we watch her?’ I said.
He smiled. ‘We watch her. Every single thing she does I want reported at once to me.’
Jacques de Roland
We couldn’t follow the du Prés, I mean you can’t follow someone over a hundred miles and have them not notice. We went ahead of them instead.
Éspehy’s a tiny place, no bigger than Dax, but at least there was only one inn where the du Prés could be staying. We couldn’t stay there ourselves, of course, we didn’t want to end up eating breakfast with Bouchard, but it was June, the barns were cleared for the harvest, and Charlot found two at a seigneurial farm called Malassise we could use as a base. There was bugger all in them, Philibert had to go and buy straw to lie on, but I didn’t think we’d be getting much sleep anyway. We were like a little army ourselves now, and less than a mile away was the enemy.
There were a lot of them too. We’d met remnants of our retreating troops as we journeyed north and nothing they told us about Honnecourt was encouraging. Gaspard was half Spanish so he trotted over the border to see for himself, but he came back very quickly saying the whole place was teeming with troops. There were Germans and Spanish in proper billets, Italians wandering round living off the country, and Walloons just about everywhere. The only soldiers he didn’t see were French, or at least not live ones.
I still thought we’d got a chance. There were fourteen of us now, and mostly experienced soldiers. The musketeers were only gardeners and stablehands, but Gaspard had them equipped with buff jackets and bandoliers, and they sloped arms for Stefan like their lives depended on it. Grimauld said ‘Dear oh dear, oh dear’ every time he looked at them, but I knew what amateurs could do when it came to it. I’d been one myself.
All we needed now was information, so André and I went into the village to wait for the du Prés. We were supposed to meet Bernadette that evening in the inn’s stables, but we arrived far too early, it was still daylight and no sign of guests at all. We’d got the right place, though, we heard carriages coming while we were still in the courtyard and had to nip into the horrible privy to hide.
The first carriage was battered and dingy but the people who got out were richly dressed gentlemen, the kind who’d never slum it at a village inn unless they’d got some kind of purpose. The next removed any doubt at all. The man who got out stood a moment gazing at the buildings, and the thick rope-like scar on his neck identified him at once as d’Arsy.
That’s when it felt real. We’d set out two years ago from a border village just like this one, we’d been in Paris and all over since then, but everything led back here to this little strip of land where Spain met France. D’Arsy was part of that other life, Paris and the salons and politics, but here was where we were really going to fight it out.
‘Here they come,’ whispered André.
The du Prés made rotten conspirators, they’d got their arms emblazoned over both carriages. I watched the servants getting out and felt my heart squeeze at the sight of a little maid in a thick cloak scurrying indoors with Jeanette, but then the main carriage doors opened and the first man out was Bouchard.
We should have guessed he’d be travelling with them, but it was still a shock to see him so close to Anne. He handed her down himself, and I saw his fingers actually caressing her elbow when he did it. Beside me André let out his breath in a soft little hiss, and I daren’t even look at his face.
It was still light when the courtyard finally cleared, so we went out for fresh air and felt we bloody needed it. It was comforting just walking through the village and reminding ourselves this was still France we were in, people coming home after working the fields, a blacksmith mending a ploughshare, a bunch of women gossiping round the well. They were Champenoise, of course, but the patois is very close to Picardie’s, we sat down to join them and it felt like home.
Then a man rode by. He was just an ordinary traveller in a heavy cloak and hat, but I knew his face and quickly l
owered my own. It was Carlos Corvacho, d’Estrada’s servant, riding openly into a village in Champagne. When I lifted my head again the women were still talking but I wasn’t looking at them any more, I was seeing another well on top of this one, a well with no bucket and a rusty chain in a hamlet called Petit-Grouche long ago.
Anne du Pré
Extract from her diary, dated 6 June 1642
Carlos himself delivered our instructions. No one seemed anything but happy to welcome him, while Père Ignace chatted to him in Spanish as if he had missed the language.
Florian alone seemed uncomfortable at Carlos’s appearence, as if overcome by the memories it reawakened. Carlos said ‘Ah, but we’re all good friends now, aren’t we, Monsieur?’ and patted him on the shoulder, but I saw Florian resented the familiarity. He had forgotten that they used to treat him as a feeble-minded child, and I hope the recollection will do him good.
With me Carlos was even more effusive, and stressed the warmth of Don Miguel’s welcome with such significance that my abominable fiancé said ‘Not too warm, I hope,’ and laid a proprietorial hand on my arm. He always sits so close.
But dusk was falling and Carlos wasted no more time. He gave us directions to a frontier road behind a farm called Malassise, said an escort would meet us at six in the morning exactly, and gave us a safe-conduct from Don Miguel. I handed it to Bouchard myself that I might have the opportunity to examine it, but it is covered in so many seals I have no hope of trying to copy one for André. I saw indeed the name of the ‘Château d’Escaut’, but since I have no idea where it is I’m not sure it is much help.
André must still have the information. Bernadette will tell him at the rendezvous tonight, and perhaps, oh perhaps, he will work out a way to use it.
Jacques de Roland
We crossed the border just before dawn. The sky was paling and the fields beyond Malassise were edged with a faint yellow shimmer, while behind us in the gloom the St Nicolas clock struck five.