Before the Storm

by Melanie Clegg

  Clementine gave her governess a shrewd look. ‘You don’t really like him do you?’

  Sidonie laughed. ‘It’s not that.’ They walked together to the window and looked across the snow covered gardens. ‘You are just so young, Clementine. Are you sure you want to get married quite so soon? Before you have seen anything of the world?’

  ‘You’re as bad as mother. No sooner does a man look at me, than she is imagining me with orange blossom in my hair and a ring on my finger.’ Clementine smiled up at the older woman then looked out across the gardens again. ‘Look at the poor statues of nymphs,’ she murmured. ‘How they shiver in the snow.’

  ‘Mademoiselle Garland?’ She looked up to see Antoine smiling down at her. ‘I am about to leave and wanted to say goodbye before I go.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Clementine took a step towards him as Sidonie discreetly turned away. ‘Will I see you again before I return to England?’ There was a note of hopelessness in her voice that made her governess quickly turn back and look with curiosity at the young man, taking in his shoulder length dark hair, genuine smile and slightly threadbare elbows on his bottle green velvet coat. Now, here was danger. ‘I’m sorry, this is my governess, Mademoiselle Roche.’

  ‘Enchanté, mademoiselle.’ He shook his head sadly at Clementine. ‘Sadly that won’t be possible. I leave for Martinique next week. My father has inherited some business interests and has asked me to travel there to oversee matters for him.’

  ‘Martinique?’ Clementine’s voice was flat with disappointment. ‘That is so far away. How long will you gone?’

  His smile faded as he looked down into her pale face. ‘I don’t know. The journey there takes several months alone.’

  ‘So you could be away for years?’

  Antoine gave a wry smile. ‘I hope not.’

  Mechanically, Clementine extended her hand, which he took and raised to his lips. They looked at each other for several moments, not knowing what more to say before he recovered himself, dropped her hand and walked quickly away.

  Part Three, Chapter Twenty Two

  Versailles, October 1789

  Madame la Duchesse de Coulanges walked quickly but nervously through the crowded Hall of Mirrors, barely seeming to notice the bows and polite murmurs as she went past. Most of the court had gathered in the magnificent gallery, either standing in whispering groups or sitting on the floor with no regard for etiquette or dignity, their silk and velvet skirts trailing on the dusty parquet floor.

  ‘It’s too late to leave,’ she heard someone whisper as she went past. ‘The mob is going to rip us all to pieces.’

  ‘Madame la Duchesse,’ someone plucked at her lace edged pink velvet sleeve. ‘Have you any news?’

  She shook her head. ‘I am on my way to the Queen’s chambers now,’ she said quickly, without slowing her pace. ‘Her Majesty has been safely recalled to the château.’ There had been a terrible panic in the royal apartments when the news arrived that an enormous mob of women was marching upon the palace and they realised that the Queen had gone with a few ladies to spend the afternoon painting at her pleasure house, the Petit Trianon.

  ‘The King is with his council,’ someone else murmured to her as she waited to be admitted to the Queen’s bedchamber by the harassed looking Swiss guardsmen who guarded the white and gold door. ‘They are hoping that there is still enough time to persuade him to remove to Rambouillet with his family but apparently he is unwilling to abandon Versailles.’

  She inclined her head. ‘The King will never leave his palace,’ she replied in a low voice, ‘and the Queen won’t leave without the King.’ The great doors swung open and with a nod, she stepped briskly into the royal bedchamber, where a crowd of anxious ladies in waiting swarmed and fluttered nervously around Marie Antoinette, who was sitting forlornly in front of her dressing table.

  The heavy flower and peacock feather patterned silk curtains had been drawn and the gloomy air was heavy with the musky rose perfumes worn by the court ladies and the lavender and violet pastilles that were burning in large burners in the corners of the room. The only sounds were the murmurs and muted sighs of the ladies and the metallic ticking of the pretty clock that stood on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Madame, will you not at least have some orange water?’ the Princesse de Lamballe asked the Queen with an anxious and then disappointed look towards the door as the Duchesse entered.

  ‘I want nothing,’ the Queen murmured, staring at herself in the dark depths of the huge lace and ribbon swathed mirror that rested on her dressing table, while absent mindedly rolling a Sèvres rouge pot from one hand to the other. She lifted her head as a sudden downpour of rain lashed against the bedroom windows. ‘They’ll get soaked,’ she remarked, thinking of the vast ragged mob that had gathered in front of the palace.

  ‘Serves them right,’ one of the ladies in waiting muttered. ‘They should have stayed at home in Paris.’

  The Duchesse pressed her lips tightly together, longing to shout across the room that the poor women of Paris were absolutely right to march on Versailles, that their children were starving for God’s sake and the King, who had promised to help, had called himself the ‘father’ of his nation, had done precious little to assist them. Instead though, she kept her silence and instead turned her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘I know that they have come from Paris to demand my head,’ the Queen mused in a low voice. ‘I learned from my mother not to fear death and so shall await it with firmness, at the side of my husband.’

  ‘Madame,’ the Princesse de Lamballe, always faithful, dropped to her knees in front of her mistress and friend and pressed her hand to her lips, ‘I promise that I will never leave your side.’

  Marie Antoinette smiled sadly down into the face of her dearest friend, who she had known ever since her first arrival in France almost twenty years earlier as a timid girl of fifteen. ‘I don’t know if I can let you do that, my dear,’ she whispered, tears trickling slowly down her pale cheeks. ‘No one who remains near me is safe any more and I do not wish you to risk your life on my account.’

  The Duchesse had seen enough, and with one last curtsey she slipped from the room again. She stopped for a moment and leaned against the doors with her eyes closed, breathing in the stale air and overcome with a sudden longing for the feeling of rain against her upturned face.

  ‘Clementine?’ She opened her eyes to see her sister, immaculate as always in pale yellow silk, with diamonds hanging from her ears. ‘Have you seen the Queen?’ There was a note of resentment in her voice as she had no official position at court, while traditionally the Duchesse de Coulanges always attended the Queen herself.

  Clementine nodded. ‘Yes.’ She felt suddenly too tired and overwhelmed to say much more. ‘She isn’t leaving the King’s side.’

  Eliza frowned. ‘If they stay, does that mean that we have to as well?’ She rested her hand protectively on her swollen stomach. ‘Edmond says...’

  Clementine interrupted her. ‘If you can get past the mob to the palace stables then you are welcome to leave,’ she said, more curtly than she had intended. ‘We are all free to leave, if we so wish.’ They began to walk back along the Hall of Mirrors, which was even more crowded now. Someone had pushed open a window and they paused for a moment, breathing in the crisp, cold Autumn air which served as an antidote to the fetid stench of several hundred sweating anxious bodies crammed in close together.

  ‘Have you seen Venetia?’ Clementine asked, trying to pull her thoughts together.

  Eliza shook her head. ‘She went to Paris yesterday to see Eugène,’ she said. ‘I hope to God that she is there still and did not try to return today.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They say that there are thousands upon thousands of women in the mob.’

  Clementine nodded. The Hall of Mirrors lay at the back of the palace so they couldn’t hear anything of the seething mass of people who shouted and catcalled at the front, but they would be able to see and hear them clearly from the Ki
ng’s rooms at the front. She’d always imagined the Sun King standing at the windows of his bedchamber, full of pride as he surveyed his kingdom and knew that he was the master of all that he saw. Now, his descendant, Louis XVI would stand and know that he was master of nothing.

  They carried on walking in silence through the splendid marble, gilt and crimson state rooms that led to the upper floor of the chapel, all of which were filled with the same terrified mass of people. ‘Have you seen the Duc?’ Eliza asked.

  ‘Not since this morning,’ Clementine replied. ‘He will be with the King no doubt.’ Her husband, who had been orphaned at an early age and raised by his formidable grandmother was King Louis’ godson and rarely strayed from his side when they were at court.

  ‘This is intolerable,’ Eliza muttered, looking out of the window. They could see some of the mob now. The rain had stopped, sunset was falling and the women were putting together makeshift bonfires as they clearly settled in for the night. ‘We’re not even French. Surely they will let us leave?’

  Clementine laughed. ‘I think that you will have to make up your mind to staying,’ she said. ‘They aren’t going to let any of us leave. You can stay in my apartment with me if you like.’

  Her sister stared at her. ‘How can you laugh? You do realise that they have come here to massacre us all?’

  After several hours waiting for news, they spent an uncomfortable night in the small apartment overlooking the Rue des Réservoirs that Clementine shared with her husband. There were hundreds such little flats in the palace, most of them cold, damp, cramped and uncomfortable but nonetheless prized above rubies by most of the courtiers as they not only meant that the occupant shared the same roof as royalty but also signified a high level of royal favour.

  Thanks to their high rank at court, the Coulanges couple were more fortunate than most and had a suite of six reasonably sized rooms, which the Duc insisted on making it as comfortable as possible with a pretty canopied pale green silk lit à la Polonaise, sofas, paintings and even a small piano in the already cluttered little sitting room.

  ‘You’re so lucky,’ Eliza murmured as she drifted off to sleep next to Clementine on top of the bed. ‘Hard to believe really that you would be luckiest out of all of us.’

  Clementine smiled in the darkness. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ she whispered.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Clementine was woken very early the next morning, just as the first purple and pink fingers of dawn were beginning to creep between the slightly ajar green brocade curtains. At first she was confused and did not know what the sound of banging, shouting, screams and running feet signified but then, suddenly and with an accompanying sickening sense of dread, she understood and immediately jumped from the bed and ran to the door of the apartment, just as someone began hammering on it with all their might.

  Her heart was pounding painfully against her ribs as she clumsily unlocked the door and opened it a crack to see who was outside, while behind her, Eliza moaned and sat up on the bed. ‘It’s me, Clementine,’ a voice whispered urgently. ‘It’s Edmond.’

  ‘Edmond!’ She opened the door to let him in then quickly locked it again behind him. ‘What has happened?’ She went to the windows and flung back the heavy curtains, letting dusky dawn light fill the apartment.

  ‘They’ve got in,’ he said, sinking down on to a chair. He looked utterly exhausted and had a smear of blood on his cheek, while the sleeve of his black velvet jacket was ripped open. ‘We don’t know how, but they’ve overcome the palace guards and even now are looting the Queen’s chambers.’ Edmond ran his fingers wearily through his dark hair. ‘The Queen was alerted of the danger just in time and is safe with the King, while the guards are doing their best to force the mob out again.’ He looked like he wanted to weep. ‘We waited for hours for the King to make a decision about withdrawing to Rambouillet and then when he finally made up his mind to leave, we found that the mob had stolen all the horses.’

  Clementine covered her mouth in shock. ‘What happens now?’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t actually believe that they meant to do us harm...’

  He shook his head and looked past her to the doorway, where Eliza stood with her fair hair hanging loose around her shoulders. ‘Madame, I did not mean to disturb you,’ he murmured to his wife with a rueful smile.

  ‘It is of no matter,’ she replied, stepping into the room. ‘So the mob are inside the palace then?’ she asked shakily, closing her eyes as a terrible scream floated up to them from the street below.

  Edmond stood up and went to her. ‘Do not be afraid, Eliza,’ he murmured, putting his hand gently on her stomach. ‘General La Fayette’s men are dispersing them. I promise that no harm will come to you.’

  ‘You can’t promise that,‘Eliza replied, turning away. Her baby was due in only a few weeks time and she held her hand to the small of her back as she hobbled back to the bedroom.

  ‘Look after her,’ Edmond whispered to Clementine, who was still standing beside the window. ‘I have to go now but will return as soon as I am able. We are all doing our best to hold them off but already many have died.’

  ‘What about my husband, the Duc?’ Clementine whispered. ‘Do you know where he is?’

  ‘He is still with the King,’ Edmond replied. ‘If I see him, I will tell him that you are safe.’

  ‘Safe for now, at least,’ she replied with a tiny smile.

  After she had locked the door behind Edmond again, Clementine went back to the bedroom, where Eliza was sitting on the bed with her arms wrapped defensively around herself. ‘Are we all going to die?’ she asked with a stricken look as Clementine climbed up next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘One day,’ she replied, resting her auburn head against her sisters. ‘But not today.’

  ‘I wish that we had never come here,’ Eliza said suddenly.

  Clementine pulled her head back and looked at her sister with confusion. ‘Why so? I thought you loved Edmond?’

  Eliza sighed. ‘Love? Yes, I love Edmond.’ She paused to blink away some tears. ‘He only married me for my money though.’

  ‘Surely not,’ Clementine said, shocked. She’d seen the way that Edmond looked at her sister.

  ‘He told me as much after the wedding.’ Eliza gave a rueful smile. ‘He said that I was the loveliest girl that he had ever seen but that he didn’t know if he could ever love me in the way that I deserved.’ She laughed, the sound bitter and jangling in the dimly lit little bedroom. ‘However, he would always respect me. Respect. I would much rather he had said he hated me for at least then I would know that he felt something more than indifference.’ She took a deep ragged breath. ‘I am sure that he’s gone back to Corisande. He’s never said so but he wouldn’t, would he?’

  Clementine stared at her sister. ‘My God,’ she breathed, not knowing what else to say. ‘I had no idea.’

  Eliza shrugged. ‘How could you? I’m not exactly going to tell anyone about it, am I?’ She shook back her long corn coloured hair and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘And what about you?’ she said.

  ‘What about me?’ Clementine felt suddenly cold and unprepared. She didn’t want to talk about herself yet.

  Eliza hesitated for a while before replying. ‘People say that the Duc has yet to make you his wife in truth as well as name,’ she whispered.

  Clementine blushed. ‘Why would people say that?’ she demanded. ‘How do they know?’

  Eliza gave a sad little shrug. ‘You know what Versailles is like, Clementine,’ she replied. ‘It starts with servant tittle tattle and before you know it, it is all over court.’

  Clementine pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. ‘Oh no. I had no idea that everyone knew.’ She shivered, remembering the shy awkwardness of her wedding night, his knee between her legs and his warm, sweet breath on the side of her neck. ‘Besides, it isn’t true. It was just once but that’s enough isn’t it?’

  ‘Not i
f you want to provide him with an heir,’ Eliza reminded her, self consciously touching her blooming stomach again.

  ‘There’s plenty of time for that,’ Clementine murmured diffidently. ‘I’m only eighteen after all. We want to go to Italy next year and then maybe even Russia. Perhaps after that...’

  Her sister looked at her curiously. ‘Do you love him?’ she asked.

  Clementine hesitated, thinking of her husband’s pleasant but not handsome face and briefly, another face, darker with laughing blue eyes. ‘We are very good friends,’ she said finally.

  Eliza surprised her by giving a shaky laugh. ‘Lord, just look at us both!’ she said. ‘What a pair we make - friendship on one side and indifference on the other. Perhaps we should have married those London merchants after all.’

  ‘Mama would never speak to us again,’ Clementine replied with a laugh. Her mother had been almost speechless with joy on her wedding day and despite everything she’d felt a certain small satisfaction in making her mother proud.

  The Duc’s proposal had been something of a surprise. He’d come to their house on the Rue de l’Université just a few days before they were due to return to London and had taken her aback by first insisting upon seeing her alone in the little blue sitting room there and then, with very little preamble, dropping to his knees on the floor and clumsily taking her hands in his.

  ‘I want to make you the princess of the Château de Coulanges,’ he had muttered, clumsily kissing her fingers. ‘Don’t go back to London, Clementine. I want you to stay here with me.’

  Her first instinct had been to refuse but something had stopped her - a lingering memory of the beautiful château on the banks of the Loire, perhaps or maybe the sight of Antoine’s back as he walked away from her through a crowd of wedding guests. ‘Of course I will stay,’ she’d said, smiling down at the Duc, thinking how easy it would be to fall in love with him. He was so kind, so sweet after all. How could she not love him?