What to do? If there were people assembled to meet us, it was important that Lucienne and I left the coach before it reached its destination. I had friends in Lyon who might help me avoid unwanted attentions, if I could reach them. We might have to leave our valises behind. There was nothing in mine that mattered but I did not know what was in Lucienne’s. I took her aside, told her what I had in mind and asked if she needed anything. She had one or two small items she valued, so I asked the guard to take her valise off the pile. She spent a few moments rummaging around inside and put a few things into the pocket of her dress, then she thanked the guard and gave him the bag.
She was looking frightened but I reassured her. I said I would tell her the plan at the next halt, for we had to get back into the diligence now. Actually I needed time to decide what I was going to do. I had two choices, as I saw it. Lucienne and I could try to get out of the coach, when it slowed for a corner. This was dangerous due to the risk of injury or of one of us might be detained by Gariot or one of the other passengers. Another thought was to put Gariot out of action when we alighted at the next halt. This was far more likely of success and I started to think hard.
When Gariot’s attention was distracted I asked Lucienne in a low voice to stay near the coach and not to be surprised at any of my actions. When we got down from the diligence at the next stop, I went to the privy as usual and then went in search of Gariot. I found him in the taproom and I asked him to come with me because there was something I wanted to show him.
“You’re in the Police, aren’t you?” I asked. “At least Pascal said you were. You’ll want to see this.”
I’d looked around the yard and found a crowded storeroom at the end of an outbuilding. I led the way into this room and then, when he followed me, I swivelled and hit him as hard as I could on the jaw. He fell with only a gasp and he had no chance to make any more noise because the point of my swordstick was pricking his throat.
“I have no wish to harm you,” I said, “but I will if you cry out. Sit down and tie your feet with this.” I tossed him some rope I had found earlier. “Make a good job of it or else.”
He did as he was told and I stayed far enough away from him in case he made any sudden move.
“You’ll go to the guillotine for this,” he muttered.
“Quiet. We’ll see. Now put your hands behind your back.”
As I tied them, he tried to whip around. I had been expecting him to do something like that and punched him behind the ear which left him in a heap. I tied his hands, gagged him with his own stock and then bundled him behind some boxes where he would not be found for some time. I looked out of the door and checked that no one was about. Then I made my way to the coach. The driver was making some adjustment to the traces and I went over to him.
“One of your passengers, Gariot, sent me to tell you that he’s ill and he can’t face travelling for the next few hours. He says to go without him.”
“Where is he?”
“In the privy.” The driver made a move in that direction. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” I stopped him. “I tried to help him and got cursed for my trouble. He’s not far from home. He can easily catch the next coach or ride the rest of the way.”
The man grinned and said to the guard, “Get this man Gariot’s luggage down.”
“He didn’t have any,” I said. “He got on at the last stop and he’s only going as far as Lyon.”
“Fair enough. You get in then.”
By now the time was passing and the driver was in a hurry to leave. The other passengers, including Lucienne, had already climbed into the coach while we were talking and I followed.
“What has happened?” Lucienne asked me quietly.
“Nothing much. A passenger is sick and is staying behind until he’s better.”
Lucienne is no fool. “Gariot?” she asked and I nodded. She immediately put her hand over my knuckles, which I had not realised I had grazed in the scuffle. The diligence started with a jerk and we bowled out of the inn. The new team of horses was a lively one, so we made good time.
No hue and cry came after us and I relaxed more as the kilometres passed. At the next halt, Lucienne and I got down and I asked the guard for our valises as we were staying on this side of the city. He did not question me, just did as I asked. Lucienne and I stood there watching the coach bowl away.
“What now?” Lucienne asked.
“Now we walk. I’m sorry for it, but it’s easier for us to get lost walking than if I hire horses or any sort of a carriage. If we can get to the city unnoticed, I have friends who will help us the rest of the way.”
After our long journey, it was good to exercise our cramped legs, although it was night-time, cold and dark. Eventually we had to stop. I spread my cloak over some bushes and the two of us huddled beneath it for warmth, using our valises for pillows. I had done this sort of thing many times before and suffered less than Lucienne, who shivered all night and hardly slept.
Dawn came and the light increased. We looked at each other and we were sorry sights. I had a sudden thought of what my friends would think of us, but we had to find them first.
It took us two days and we would not have made it then if I had not hired one of the plough horses from a farmer. He was suspicious, but he wanted my money and his wife was concerned about Lucienne. Lucienne had to assure her that the reason for our plight was an accident to our carriage. The horse bolted, apparently, the carriage overturned and the traces broke. The horse ran off and so we had to walk until we could find another way to get to the city. Afterwards we would recover the carriage and try to find the horse. No, it was certainly not an elopement! Lucienne impressed me. She made the woman believe her. I certainly could not have done it half so well. We left our valises with the farm couple as surety for the return of their horse. Truth to tell, I was glad to get rid of the things.
I mounted the horse, which was docile enough, and Lucienne was lifted on behind me. She was nervous at first, although she had ridden while at school, because we had no saddles and the horse was certainly not a riding horse. It had a steady, plodding pace, however, and we moved faster than we would have done on foot.
And this is how we arrived at my friend’s house. Henri and Anne were suitably horrified at our appearance.
“I hardly recognised you under all that dirt,” Henri said. “You look like a tramp.”
“I feel like one too,” I told him. “I thought your servant wasn’t going to let us in.”
“He wasn’t!” Henri laughed. “If I hadn’t heard your voice and called to him, he’d have sent you away.”
“I’m glad you heard me then.”
When we had been washed and fed, I proceeded to give my friends a brief version of our adventures. Henri and I grew up together. We rediscovered our friendship during the months I had been in Grenoble and he had been visiting his mother in the town.
“You don’t change, do you?” he said when I had finished. “All you wanted to do when we were boys was get into trouble.”
“At least I’m not a knight or a pirate and you’re not a fire-breathing dragon or a troubadour.”
Anne laughed at the last remark and a look passed between her and her husband.
“What are we going to do to get you out of this mess?” Henri asked.
“Return the horse to the farm and retrieve our valises if you will.”
“Easily done. What else?”
“Find us a seat on a wagon going to Grenoble and lend us some old clothes. The humbler the better. I want to be overlooked.” Henri nodded. “And forget we ever arrived here like this.”
“Only if you come and visit us in the spring, officially and not in disguise,” Anne answered.
“The situation should be more settled by then,” Henri agreed with her. “Let us welcome you openly, so we can enjoy ourselves.”
“I may not be able to come, but I will certainly try,” I said. “I could be in Switzerland or Italy by then.”
&nb
sp; “Hopefully not. You seem to have covered your tracks so far and you’ve never been prominent among the enemies of the state, like Ney and Murat.” He mentioned two of the Emperor’s marshals who had been shot for their part in last summer’s battles.
“Thank God for it,” I murmured, hoping he was right.
Chapter 17
Next morning Lucienne and I left Lyon, huddled in the back of a carrier’s cart. The man had brought some bottles of Chartreuse liqueur from Voiron to Lyon and now he was returning home. Henri was among his customers and had arranged the ride with his usual efficiency. The journey was slow, but we were clothed, dry and we did not have to walk. We stayed overnight with a cousin of the carter and the next day we would arrive in Grenoble.
The last day of our journey tested our endurance. The pace was dawdling and both Lucienne and I were thoroughly sick of travelling by now. We drove along the muddy road, following the banks of the Isère, which was in spate from the rain. All morning everything was covered in cloud. Then the valley opened out, the clouds rolled away and we could see the snowy mountains of the Belledonne, sparkling in the sunlight.
I know I sighed with relief. We were almost home.
Lucienne exclaimed in delight, “Oh, they are beautiful, Alain. What are they?”
I told her and then added, “Unlike Paris, you will always know where you are in Grenoble. The Belledonne have peaks like triangles, Vercors on the right has a top like a table and to the south there are no mountains, only flat land. To the north no one can mistake that…” I pointed to the massif of La Grande Chartreuse, which towered above us, crowned with its castle.
“No indeed. We don’t have to climb up there do we?” Lucienne asked, fear in her voice.
“No, but Josef is going to stay the night at the citadel. We will say goodbye to him at the next crossroads. Then we will have to walk.”
“Is it far?”
“Through the centre of the town and then a mile south. It is all flat, don’t worry. No more climbing hills.”
“I’m glad of that. At times I wasn’t sure I could keep going.”
“Me too.” Indeed my leg had ached constantly since we left the diligence, worse than it had after the battle. That had been in June and perhaps the cold and wet had had this effect. My heart started to lift out of the black depression which had been my companion on this never ending journey. The France I knew would never be the same again and I would be looking over my shoulder for years to come. Pascal’s actions had shown me that, and I thanked heaven that we had been able to give him the slip. There would be others like him in the future. I hoped that the King’s men would prove as ineffective now as they had been last year, but it was a hope, nothing more. The Emperor’s return would make them far more careful. I would have to be prepared to flee if necessary.
I could feel the longing for peace and quiet rising up choking me as I walked along. I have had enough adventures, although I had enjoyed most of them at the time. I was no longer the young man who had served in the army or enlisted in the Police. I was not even the same fool who had fought at Mont St. Jean, distraught by Lefebvre’s death. I wanted only to live for the rest of my life with my family. I prayed very hard to the God of my childhood to make it so.
We stumbled into Grenoble, two scarecrows covered in mud, not fit to be seen by respectable people. Several citizens pointedly crossed the road when they saw us coming and others gave us a wide berth. One of them I knew, the Veuve Brun, a friend of my mother’s. I grinned when I saw her, but did not say anything. I would have given her the fright of her life if she had recognised me. She had a sharp tongue and often told me off when I was a boy. I doubted she had changed.
We turned aside from the river, with the Grande Chartreuse at our back and walked out to where the countryside met the town. I was almost home now and I looked around me in some anxiety. I wondered if there had been any fighting here, as there had been around Lyon. I saw no sign of anything and I breathed a sigh of relief. We came at long last to the track which led to Bellevue. At the end of the lane, I saw a young girl cutting some branches of autumn leaves. Her back was turned and I almost did not recognise her, she had grown so much in my absence, but those black curls were unmistakable.
“Aimée!”
She whipped around, stared for a moment and then dropped her shears and the branches to the ground. She flew into my arms, hugging me and kissing my dirty cheek.
“Papa! Papa! Where have you come from? Why are you so muddy?”
I laughed and buried my face in her hair, savouring the scent and the warmth of her, my first baby. The frozen place inside me, which had been there since Lefebvre’s death, started to thaw. I eased the fingers clutching me and turned her gently, so that she could see that I was not alone. Lucienne stood there, smiling at our reunion.
“Lucienne?” Aimée asked hesitantly.
“I’m not surprised you don’t recognise me under all this dirt. I must look a sight.” Lucienne said.
“You look wonderful to me.” Aimée was always tactful, even as a little one, a trait she inherits from her mother, certainly not from me. She threw herself into Lucienne’s arms and both of them started to cry.
“Is your mother in?” I said, trying to stem the flow of tears and give them something to distract their thoughts.
“Yes.” Aimée caught my hand and tugged me forward down the avenue. I staggered at the impact of her young strength and she stopped.
“Are you injured, Papa?” she asked, horror in her voice.
“I was but I’m now well. I’m only tired and so is Lucienne. We have travelled a great distance to get home.”
She slipped her arm round my back, to support me. I leant on her lightly and we walked up the lane which had never seemed so long to me before. That is how we came home at last, two scarecrows and a young girl with fresh mud on her pelisse and tears on her cheeks.
Eugénie ran out of the house, Françoise toddling after her. Hugs and kisses, followed by baths and good food made both Lucienne and I feel human again. Eugénie sent for Sophie, Emile and Laure, so we should not have to repeat our story.
Emile greeted me with a hug. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“How is the business?”
“Better than ever. Uncertain times make people want to safeguard their valuables. You are needed. We have too much work. I covered for you, by the way, to both to your father and the authorities.”
“They aren’t looking for me?”
“Not to my knowledge, or at least not yet. Keep your mouth shut and your head down and you should be safe enough. A lot of the officials who knew their business and the town well have been sacked. The ones that replaced them don’t know their right hand from their left. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
“Good. My father?”
“It’s a wonder he’s still alive. He doesn’t make much sense any more but he clings onto life.”
“I’ll go to him tomorrow.”
“Do that. Sophie thinks he has been waiting to see you one last time. Who knows?”
“Who indeed.”
After we had eaten, we sat by the fire and everyone demanded the tale of our adventures. When we had ended our story, Emile said, “So the escapade is finished. The English will see that the Emperor never returns again.”
“Even if he did, who would follow him?” I shuddered. “The bloodshed was terrible, worse than I have ever seen before. I wondered, for a while, if anyone had been left alive on this earth.”
“At least you survived it.” Eugénie had a catch in her throat. “Pray God there is no more war in our lifetimes or in Jean’s.”
“Amen to that.”
I sat back, staring into the firelight, my arm around Eugénie’s shoulders, Aimée sitting at my feet and Françoise on my lap. Lucienne smiled at something Laure had said to her. Jean lay on the hearthrug, playing with a wooden top. Pictures of the year flew through my mind: my father as I had seen him last; the Emperor in the grubby inn i
n Grenoble; Fouché, Rolland, Lefebvre dying in the mud, my old colonel, my benefactor on the battlefield whose name I did not know. I would not see most of them again. I gazed round the fire lit circle. These were the people I loved, my wife, my children, my family and my friend’s daughter. I repeated the prayer I had muttered so often on the journey home. God willing, my adventures were truly over. I would live out my life in peace and never be called upon to leave my loved ones again.
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About Michèle McGrath
Award winning author, Michele McGrath, was born on the beautiful Isle of Man in the middle of the Irish Sea. She has lived in California, Liverpool, France and Lancashire before returning home. Living in Paris and Grenoble taught her to make a mean ratatouille and she learned the hula in Hawaii.
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