Charles took her hand, which she allowed to listlessly remain within his. ‘There’s always a way.’ He led her quickly through a door concealed in the panelling of the room which led to a narrow staircase that ran behind the apartments on each floor. ‘These stairs lead down to an apartment on the ground floor,’ he whispered over his shoulder. ‘From there we may be able to find a way out.’
She didn’t have much confidence in this projected escape route but obediently followed behind him as he carefully made his way down the rickety wooden staircase to another door at the bottom which opened into a pale blue painted sitting room that was in considerable disarray. From here they made their way through a series of small rooms that had clearly been only recently vacated - there was an interrupted breakfast still lying on the dining table and Clementine hungrily snatched up some pieces of bread and an apple, which she wrapped in a clean napkin and carried with her.
Now that they were on the ground floor, the ferocious mob outside the palace was closer than ever and there was no escape from the shouts, screams and cries of several thousand desperate people who thrust their arms through the iron bars of the palace gates and demanded hoarsely that the Queen be turned over to them so that they could rip her apart with their own bare hands for what she had done to France.
‘Perceived slights,’ Charles muttered. ‘They are like ignorant beasts, baying for blood. Ironic really that every one of them has probably benefited from her majesty’s charitable endeavours at some time or other.’
It was as they reached a marble vestibule, strewn with discarded army standards, shoes and weapons that they heard an immense triumphant roar and a terrifying pounding that denoted the running of hundreds of feet. They were heading for the state staircase that led to the royal apartments above and all at once they heard a terrible screaming from the men and women trapped upstairs.
Charles turned pale and immediately thrust his wife through an open door that led to an abandoned kitchen. There they found a dark cloak thrown over the back of a chair and with shaking hands, Clementine fastened it over her beautiful silk dress then hastily removed the pearls from her ears, neck and wrists and shoved them deep into the cloaks pockets. ‘Where should I go?’ she asked, her teeth chattering with fear as the shouts and sound of running feet went on and on.
‘Straight to our house,’ Charles ordered as he drew back the bolt on a heavy wooden door that led to a small courtyard. He led her across to another door, which opened on to a small alley just off the Rue de Rivoli. ‘Go directly home. Don’t stop. Don’t talk to anyone.’
‘Are you coming too?’ she asked, raising her eyes briefly to his face .
He shook his head, maintaining his distance. ‘I must stay here to protect those who remain.’
Clementine nodded then impulsively stepped up to him and took his hands. ‘Whatever has happened between us, Charles, I still wish you well,’ she whispered. ‘I will pray for you until you send word that you are safe.’
He lifted her hands to his lips. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply, becoming tearful as he looked down into her face. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and he went to wipe it off with his thumb before her instinctive flinch away reminded him that such intimacies were at an end between them.
Clementine cast one last look over her shoulder before she scrambled breathlessly, her heart pounding painfully, down the alleyway to the crowded, busy Rue de Rivoli. Although her husband had ordered her to go back to the safety of the Hôtel de Coulanges, she briefly considered turning instead towards Phoebe’s apartment further down the street but then just as quickly dismissed this idea before pulling the cloak closely around herself, turning off the main thoroughfare and making her way through the shadowy back streets to the Place Louis le Grand.
It was an uncomfortably hot day and so her heavily cloaked appearance drew some curious stares, but otherwise she remained mercifully unmolested. In the distance she could hear screams and gunfire and her heart ached for all who had been left behind at the Tuileries. She knew that to pause or turn back even for a moment could be fatal and so she pressed on until she turned a corner onto the magnificent Square and could see her home in front of her.
She took a deep breath and stepped out of the gloom into the sunlight then forced herself not to run but rather walk as slowly as possible across the sun-warmed cobbles to the marble steps that led up to the Hôtel’s front door, which to her relief was unlocked.
‘Madame?’ The housekeeper, Madame Blanchard was just passing through the hall as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. ‘This is private property and I must demand to know what your business is here.’ The woman’s voice was hostile and for a split second, Clementine balked until she remembered the heavy cloak that she had pulled up over her head.
‘It is I,’ she said softly, pushing down the hood and stepping into the light. ‘I have walked from the Tuileries.’
Madame Blanchard’s harsh face immediately softened into relief. ‘Madame la Duchesse? Oh, thank God. We have all been praying for you.’ She steered Clementine upstairs with promises of a long hot bath, fresh clothes and the most delicious meal that it had ever been her honour to serve. ‘But what of Monsieur le Duc?’ she asked at last as they went into Clementine’s gorgeous pink and gold bedroom that overlooked the garden at the back of the house. ‘Is he coming back soon?’
Clementine wearily shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘He remained behind to defend those who were left. The royal family have already gone to seek protection from the National Assembly, but everyone else was left behind.’
The housekeeper crossed herself. ‘To face the mob?’ she asked with a look of alarm. ‘Mon Dieu.’ She rang for a maid to heat the water for Clementine’s bath and another to let the cook know to send a tray of food up then bustled about the room, gathering fresh clothes, pouring a glass of water and turning down the bed, while her mistress sat wearily in a chair by the window, staring listlessly down at the colourful flowerbeds and trying not to think about what was happening only a few yards away.
Her disordered thoughts were interrupted by a frantic knocking on the front door and she immediately sprang to her feet and ran to the door. ‘Charles!’ she cried as she hurried down the stairs. ‘Oh my God, please be safe.’ She shook her head at a footmen who stepped forward to open the door and instead pulled it open herself before recoiling in shock at the sight of the anxious looking man standing on the doorstep, his long dark hair falling untidily around his face and one hand raised ready to knock again.
‘Clementine,’ he breathed, staring at her. ‘Oh thank God. I was with my father when I heard about the palace and immediately came to make sure that you are safe.’
She gazed up at Antoine, unable to believe that after all these years, here he was, standing in front of her again. ‘You came back,’ she whispered stupidly. ‘I didn’t think that I would ever see you again.’
‘I arrived back in Paris two days ago,’ he said with an awkward look. ‘My father wrote to tell me that there are plans to penalise emigrés and so I thought it politic to return to France.’ She stood aside to let him into the house and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped inside. ‘So, you married a duke then,’ he remarked with a wry smile. ‘My sister wrote to tell me all about your wedding.’
Clementine blushed. ‘That was kind of her,’ she murmured, turning away. She hadn’t seen Cécile since her wedding day but had recently heard from Sidonie that to no one’s surprise she was planning to marry a very handsome but most unsuitable young man that her father loudly disapproved of.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them as they stood together in the middle of the hall until finally she turned back to him, unable to remain silent any longer. ‘Three years,’ she said. ‘You’ve been gone for over three years and by the sounds of things, you never intended to come back.’
He stared at her then shook his head slowly. ‘No, I didn’t,’ he admitted with some difficulty befor
e reaching out and taking her hand in his own firm grasp. ‘At first though, I thought about nothing else but returning until...’
She returned his gaze. ‘Until...’ she whispered.
‘Until I realised that there was nothing left in France to draw me back again,’ he said in a low voice.
Clementine put her head on one side. ‘And now?’ she asked in a voice so low that he had to strain to hear her. ‘Is there still nothing here for you?’
Chapter Thirty Four
Clementine stayed up all night in her husband’s library on the ground floor of the house and was dozing on a comfortable sofa beside the fire when the door quietly opened and Charles, grimy, blood splattered and exhausted but very much alive tiptoed into the room. He stood for a moment looking down at his wife then slowly reached out to gently touch a long ringlet of auburn hair that had tumbled over the arm of the sofa.
‘Charles? Is that you?’ She sleepily opened her eyes and looked up at him then sat up in shock as she took in his disheveled state. ‘My God, Charles, what happened?’
He sat down heavily on a chair opposite her and stared at his grazed hands for a moment before answering, clearly choosing his words carefully. ‘The mob got into the palace and slaughtered almost everyone who stood in their path,’ he said. ‘The Queen’s ladies were spared but those who did not manage to escape were rounded up and taken to prison.’
Clementine gasped, remembering them all as she had last seen them, clustered together like frightened flowers, their eyes wide with fear, the smiles slowly draining from their faces as the crowd roared and screamed in the gardens below. ‘How did you get away?’ she asked in a low voice.
‘I ran,’ he said simply, unable to meet her eyes. ‘I ran and hid.’ He ran his fingers nervously through his sandy hair. ‘When the screaming had stopped, I left my hiding place and came straight here.’ He reached across for a carafe of red wine that stood on a table and Clementine immediately got up and poured some into a glass before handing it to him. ‘There were bodies everywhere,’ he muttered in between choking gulps of wine.
‘The Swiss Guards, most of the men who came to the palace to defend the King, all of the palace servants...’
Clementine closed her eyes and held on to the edge of the table. ‘All dead,’ she whispered, remembering the young men who had arrived at the Tuileries the previous day with their swords and shy bravado. ‘They’ll all be dead by nightfall tomorrow,’ the other lady in waiting had said and so they were, hacked into pieces by a vengeful mob while defending a King who wasn’t even there any more, who had abandoned them to their fate.
Charles watched her as he finished his wine then clumsily reached for the carafe to pour another glass. ‘You should go back to London,’ he said at last with a weary shrug. ‘I can no longer be sure that you will be safe here.’
His wife stared at him. ‘Back to London?’ she repeated stupidly. ‘You want me to leave?’
He drained the last dregs of wine from his glass and wiped his sleeve across his mouth, too tired to care how this looked. ‘Of course I don’t want you to leave,’ he said. ‘I want you to be safe though.’
‘You don’t think Paris is safe any more?’ she asked quietly. ‘You’ve said all along that this will all blow over and things will go back the way they were before...’
Charles shook his head almost angrily. ‘I don’t believe that any more,’ he said. ‘I think that things will never be the same again and that we are all on a downward slide to some sort of hell.’ He poured himself another glass of wine. ‘Clementine, I know that matters have been difficult between us but please believe me when I say that I never wanted to hurt you and would give my life now to protect you.’
His wife regarded him dubiously then slowly nodded. ‘I know, Charles,’ she whispered, ‘but I don’t want to go back to London.’
He looked confused. ‘But you said...’
She moved away. ‘I know what I said,’ she whispered a little shakily. ‘I meant it at the time but now I see that I was being foolish and that my place is here in Paris.’
‘With me?’ her husband asked timidly, standing up and taking her in his arms.
She hesitated then nodded, pushing the thought of Antoine forcibly from her mind. ‘With you.’ She lifted her face and allowed him to kiss her. Perhaps it would all work out? ‘You are still my husband and we were very fond of each other once,’ she said in a low, shy voice. ‘Perhaps we could be fond of each other again.’
He kissed her forehead and pulled her tighter. ‘I hope so,’ he whispered into her tumbled auburn hair, breathing in her soft scent of lavender and lilies. ‘I have longed for this, Clementine.’
His wife closed her eyes so that he wouldn’t see the expression in them. Her heart was telling her to run away from him and this sham of a marriage they had built up between them as fast as she could, but her head advised caution. She knew that leaving her husband would cause an immense scandal and result in becoming a pariah, ignored and ostracised by all polite society who would consider it their duty to turn their backs on her. Clementine didn’t care what the wider chattering reaches of society thought of her, but the prospect of being cast out by her closest friends and family was too painful to be contemplated. She wasn’t ready for that yet.
She had once tried to tell her sister about Charles forcing her that terrible night so long ago, but Eliza had cut her hesitant stammering off with an impatient flick of her hand. ‘I don’t understand what you are complaining about,’ she’d hissed coldly. ‘Monsieur le Duc has given you a title and true precedence in the world and in return you think nothing of denying him his right to an heir?’
Clementine had been aghast. She knew that such things were not exactly considered unusual and that in agreeing to marry Charles, she had also tacitly pledged to provide him with the all important heir, but even so she had expected more sympathy from her own sister. ‘But he forced me, Eliza,’ she protested.
‘Nonsense,’ Eliza said with real annoyance. ‘How could he force you? It is his right.’
Although she suspected that Sidonie would be a sympathetic ear, Clementine had never mentioned it again to anyone again and had hugged her terrible secret close, praying that time would either erase it from her memory or make it less painful. Now though, as she allowed Charles to hug her and even clumsily kiss the side of her neck as she tried her best not to cry or push him away, it felt as rawly terrible as it had always done.
The next few days were tense and strange as they tried to reconstruct their shattered marriage. Charles treated his wife with careful courtesy and shy affection, while she quietly accepted this and did her best to smile and not move away whenever he touched her.
On the second night, Clementine was woken up in the middle of the night by a timid tapping at her door, which then opened to admit her husband, barefooted and dressed in a long white linen nightshirt covered with an embroidered crimson silk dressing gown into the room. He was carrying a lit candle in his hand and its soft glow cast terrifying shadows into the corners of the room as he looked slowly around then advanced on tiptoe towards the pink taffeta hung Polonaise bed, where Clementine warily watched him while pretending to still be asleep.
Slowly, he reached out to touch her shoulder then gave her a tiny shake. ‘Clementine,’ he whispered, ‘are you awake?’
She considered ignoring him until he went away but then decided that this was going against the spirit of their attempt at reconciliation and so warily sat up, pulling her lace edged nightgown up to cover her breasts as she did so. It was too late though, she had noticed him glance at them and this made her recoil a little against her embroidered pillows.
‘May I stay?’ he asked, stammering a little as he put down his ornate silver candlestick on the table beside her, splashing candle wax on the polished inlaid wood. ‘I couldn’t sleep and hoped that you would not mind.’
Clementine stared up at him, not knowing what to say. ‘I was asleep,’ she murmured at las
t, not wanting him to remain in her room but not wishing to cause offence. ‘I’m sorry, Charles.’
He nodded, accepting this but did not move away from the bed. ‘Perhaps I could just stay and sleep here beside you?’ he suggested. ‘I wouldn’t do anything...’ His voice trailed away as she stared up at him.
She sighed resignedly. ‘I would rather that you didn’t,’ she said, reaching out to take his hand, which felt very hot and sweaty within in her own. ‘I’m so very tired, Charles and need to sleep. Maybe tomorrow instead?’
Her husband looked down at her for a moment without speaking then gently pulled his hand away and picked up his candle again. ‘Of course,’ he murmured, diffidently as he turned away and went slowly to the door. ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’
The door closed with a gentle click behind him and she waited a few minutes, listening intently, before silently jumping from her bed and locking it behind him. It was only then that she realised that she was trembling with fear and that her heart was pounding painfully against her rib cage.
Chapter Thirty Five
The next evening they were due to go to a fashionable restaurant in the Palais Royal for Venetia’s birthday. After recent events in the city, Clementine had expected her friend to cancel the gathering but Venetia had sent a lily scented note around to the Place Louis le Grand earlier in the day insisting that it was still going ahead and pointing out in her florid scrawl that ‘If we stayed in because of the Mob, we’d never go outside at all’, which Sidonie, who was visiting when the note arrived, pointed out in her quiet way was very true.
As always, Charles was invited but when Clementine came downstairs dressed in her newest gown of teal blue and white striped silk with a fine muslin fichu arranged around her shoulders and teal velvet roses pinned into her curled auburn hair, she found her husband slumped in a chair in front of a lit fire with a glass of wine in one hand and clearly no intention of going anywhere.
Before the Storm Page 23