Dinner with some naval officers in Dover cheered him up a little, then in the small hours of the morning the sloop put to sea. All day she beat down-Channel, and a little before dawn on the 1st of March he was landed from a boat outside Dieppe.
Shuddering, he dipped himself fully dressed in the icy surf, in order to give colour to a story that he had swum ashore; then he ran along the beach to warm himself up, but his teeth were chattering as he walked through the streets of the town to the Hôtel de Ville. There he announced himself as a Commissioner of the Commune of Paris, and the Mayor hastened out to greet him with oily servility. He told the official that he had been taken prisoner at Toulon, but had managed to make his escape from a ship that in the darkness had come close in to the French coast while carrying him to England. Then he demanded a hot bath, fresh clothes, and facilities for getting to Paris as soon as possible.
Everything was provided for him without demur, and by ten o’clock he was on his way. He had chosen to land near Dieppe as it offered the shortest overland journey to the capital; but, even so, the frightful state of the roads and the wretched weather made the going infuriatingly slow, so he did not reach Paris until four o’clock the following afternoon.
He was greatly tempted to find out if all was well with Athénaïs, but had decided that he must not bring suspicion on her or the Blanchards by going to La Belle Étoile as long as there was a possibility that he might shortly be under arrest. He would also have liked to have a talk with Citizen Oysé and learnt something of the state of things in Paris, before walking into the lions’ den; but he knew that to do so was only to put off the dread interview which he must nerve himself to face. No minor official would know anything about the lost despatch. If it had been found and filed against him as a death warrant, only the members of the two Committees and a few of their intimates would be aware of the fact. To make certain, he must gamble his neck against the full restoration of his powers as a Commissioner and the ability to procure Dan’s release.
From the coach station he walked slowly to the offices of the Comité. As it was Carnot who had sent him on his mission he should, properly, have reported to the General; but, if he was listed as a traitor, whichever member of the Comité he reported to would order his arrest. In the pocket of his greatcoat he was carrying a small, double-barrelled pistol, and if he were arrested he meant to use it on whoever gave the order. To assassinate Carnot would be to strike a valuable blow for the Allies, but he was not an evil man; there were others who deserved to die infinitely more, and whose deaths were much more likely to prove a serious check to the Revolution.
Roger’s mouth was a little dry, and the palms of his hands were sweating, as he smiled at the clerk who enquired his business and boldly asked for Citizen Robespierre.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE GREAT TERROR
The half hour that followed was for Roger the longest he had ever spent in his life. There was no clock in the dreary little waiting-room, and his dip in the surf off Dieppe had stopped his watch; so he had no means of measuring time. He dared not make any protest at being kept waiting, as the little lawyer from Arras had become as self-important as an Emperor, and, if all was still well, it would be crazy to antagonise him by an apparent lack of respect.
For four years Roger had watched his shifty, furtive, squirming, wriggling rise to power; so he had no illusions about him. Maximilien Robespierre was as slimy as a toad, as suspicious as a weasel, as dangerous as a tiger and as vain as a peacock. Now he had reached the top he was obsessed with fear; he was hag-ridden by the thought that just as he had sent the King, the Monarchists, the Moderates and the Girondins to the guillotine, so, if he relaxed for one moment, some group of enemies would rise up and fling him into the tumbrel. Constantly on the alert to protect his life, he watched for the least sign among colleagues and subordinates that might indicate hidden animosity, or resentment at the airs he could not refrain from giving himself; then, without warning, as soon as a suitable opportunity offered, he struck down those whom he suspected. Even the most powerful of his associates now realised the danger they ran if they failed to fawn on him; so Roger knew that even if he was kept there all night, he must not show impatience.
At a guess, he would have said that he had been sitting there for two hours, instead of thirty minutes, when he was at last summoned to the presence. Passing his tongue round his dry mouth, he straightened himself and followed the clerk who had been sent to fetch him. A moment later he was looking again into that wary, cat-like face with the broad, receding forehead and tip-tilted nose. The “Incorruptible” was today dressed in a suit of striped blue and white silk; not a hair of his flat head was out of place and his goffered frills were irreproachable. His nervous twitch seemed worse than ever, but he received Roger with cautious affability.
Encouraged by this reception, Roger explained about his having been taken prisoner and his recent escape. The green eyes regarded him quizzically and the thin mouth continued to smile; then the feline terrorist began to talk about Toulon, and Roger formed the horrifying impression that he was being played with as a cat plays with a mouse. Robespierre’s younger brother, Augustin, had been one of the Citizen Representatives who had witnessed the attack on the redoubt, and, it transpired, had described Roger’s gallantry in leading that first charge in the operation which had brought about the fall of the port.
Later that evening, apparently a frightful storm had arisen, so that the main attack had had to be launched in torrents of rain and a tearing wind. Whole companies had gone astray in the darkness; Colonel Buonaparte, who since the writings of his pamphlet Robespierre considered one of his young protégés, had had his horse shot under him; Victor, later to be one of Napoleon’s Marshals, had led a picked column of 2,000 against Fort Mulgrave, and had only just managed to break through its defences. The confusion and carnage had been terrible, and the dead so many that friends and foes had had to be shovelled willy-nilly into common graves. Several survivors of the attack on the redoubt had seen Roger struck down by the Spanish gunner before they had been driven off. They had had to reform and attack again later in darkness to achieve its capture. As the discovery of Roger’s body had not been reported, it had been assumed that a coating of mud and blood had rendered his sash unrecognisable, and that the prisoners who dug the graves had pushed him into one of them.
On tenterhooks, Roger listened to all this, wondering with acute apprehension what was to come later. For a while he humbly accepted a few compliments that were slightly barbed with malice, their implication being that bravery in the service of the Republic was to be commended, but not quite so highly as were the brains that directed the course of the Revolution. Then came a dissertation upon Robespierre’s own devotion to duty, his burdens, his sacrifices, his inflexible determination to maintain the pure principles which had animated Cato and Brutus, and the interesting fact that he was the one and only man who really understood the French people and the form of government most suited to them.
Doubtfully at first, but with increasing certainty, Roger became aware that he was not suspect. This callous, conceited little fiend knew nothing of the lost despatch; Fouché had not remembered; Michonis had not talked. For the time being he was still safe. Even so, not until he had actually closed the door of the office behind him did his brain really register the fact that, now, he had only to say to his old associates, “I have seen Citizen Robespierre, who knows the reason for my long absence, and was good enough to remark that I have deserved well of the nation,” for all the power and prestige that he had formerly enjoyed to be restored to him.
With an assurance he had been very far from feeling an hour earlier, he asked another clerk to take his name in to Citizen Carnot. Ten minutes later the crooked-nose General rose from his desk, clasped him by the hand and greeted him effusively. He, too, knew all about the opening phase of the attack on the Little Gibraltar. With cynical amusement Roger learned that his leading the assault waving his feathered hat
instead of a sword, because he did not wish to injure a fellow countryman, had been taken by the French as an action of the greatest gallantry. Carnot assured him that he was a hero and that his name would long be honoured in the Republican Army.
After they had talked for a while of his imprisonment and escape, Roger said, “Having been away from Paris for so long, I am anxious now to remain here for some time in order to reassume full control over my Section; but before settling to that there is one mission of short duration that I should like to carry out for you.”
“Please tell me of it,” Carnot replied with quick interest.
“It concerns Boulogne, Citizen General. While exercising on the deck of the frigate which brought me round from the Mediterranean, I overheard some officers talking. You will be aware that the English have never fully reconciled themselves to the loss of Calais. These officers were discussing the possibility of its recapture. They considered that a direct assault upon the port would prove most costly and would probably fail; but it was suggested that if they could seize Boulogne, which is less well fortified, it might then be possible to capture Calais from the landward side. Mayhap this was mere speculation, but, as a precautionary measure, I feel that the Boulogne defences should be inspected and, if necessary, strengthened.”
Carnot nodded. “You are right, Citizen Commissioner, and I thank you for your zeal. If you will call here tomorrow, I will have particulars of the Boulogne garrison ready for you, and an authorisation to order such measures there as you think requisite.”
A few minutes later Roger left the offices of the Comité with a great load off his shoulders, and well pleased at the success of his stratagem for getting swiftly to Boulogne. With quick firm steps he made his way through the spring dusk to La Belle Étoile. There, he learnt that Mère Blanchard was in bed with severe bronchitis, and that Maître Blanchard and Athénaïs were both out. Greatly relieved to learn that no ill fortune had overtaken Athénaïs in his absence, he decided to go up and wait for her in her room.
Instinctively, as he waited there, he began to examine the few simple possessions with which she had adorned it, and some clothes that she had left lying about. Her things called up a host of sentimental memories, and now that his mind was temporarily free of fear he was seized with unhappy misgivings about her possible reception of him. He had no intention of telling her about Amanda’s infidelity, but meant to make it plain that, if she was willing to overlook the four months’ unhappiness that his priggishness had caused her, he was prepared to do everything in his power to make amends. But would that belated concession prove enough, or would she by this time have hardened her heart against him beyond his power to melt it?
He had had little proper sleep during the past few days, and his anxiety about the reception he might meet with in Paris had taken a lot out of him; so, having looked round the room, he lay down on the bed to rest. The shadows lengthened; it was almost dark when he heard a light footfall on the landing.
As he sat up, Athénaïs opened the door; the light was still sufficient for her to see his silhouette outlined against the window. For a second she remained, as though frozen, in the doorway. Her left hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream; with her right she swiftly crossed herself.
“I am no ghost!” he exclaimed, standing up. “Athénaïs, be not frightened. It is I, Rojé.”
With a little whimper of fear merging with joy, she stumbled forward. Next moment he caught her in his arms, and she was murmuring:
“This can’t be true! They told me you were dead. Oh, blessed Virgin, I have not prayed to you in vain!” Then her voice dissolved into a passion of weeping, and Roger held her tightly to him.
It was several moments before she could again speak coherently, and even then it was only to mutter endearments, while covering his face with feverish kisses.
Greatly moved, he picked her up and laid her on the bed, then knelt down beside it and, clasping her two hands in his, said in a hoarse whisper, “Athénaïs, I realise now that I have behaved like a fool, and have caused you much distress through my ill-considered notions of chivalrous behaviour. I beg you to forgive me, for I am willing to make all possible reparation. I am told that Dan is in prison in the neighbourhood of Boulogne. My first duty is to free him. But the moment that is done, I will, if you wish, take you to Bath or London.”
She turned over towards him and threw an arm round his neck. “Chéri, think no more of that. When I suggested our crossing to Lymington for two weeks or so, it was but to test the depths of your feeling for me. Had you agreed I would never have pressed you to it. Your work and mine lies here. Later, if we are spared and you wish to take me with you to England, that would be different; but I ask no promise for the future, only that we should waste no more of our lives apart in the present.”
Brought face to face with Athénaïs’s passion for him, Roger felt ashamed now that he should ever have contemplated remaining in London, and, his cheek pressed to hers, he murmured, “You are too generous to me.”
“Nay,” she smiled, “it is that I have learnt my lesson. It was I who, out of pride, erected a barrier to our reunion some days before you left for Toulon. When I believed you dead it seemed like a judgment upon me that I should have deprived myself of the happy memories I might have had of our last hours together. Now that the Holy Virgin has restored you to me, no act of mine shall ever again come between us.”
As she spoke she drew him up on to the bed beside her. For a long time they lay there, tightly embraced, moving only to caress one another gently and speaking only in occasional whispers. The night lay before them and they both knew that in due course renewed passion would shake them to the roots of their beings, but for a while they were content to savour the profound bliss of lying almost still, with the knowledge that neither death nor the shadow of any third person came between them any longer.
It was now quite dark, and nearly two hours must have elapsed since Athénaïs’s return when a soft knock came on the door.
“Who is it?” she called, quickly sitting up.
“It is Candalous,” came a man’s voice in reply. “Not having seen you at supper, Citoyenne, I feared you might be ill; I wondered if you would like me to bring you up something to eat on a tray.”
“No!” Athénaïs called back. “Thank you; but I am quite well, and require nothing.”
“Who was that?” Roger asked, as the man’s footsteps retreated.
“Pierre Candalous.” Athénaïs’s voice held a faint note of distaste. “He is an ex-schoolmaster and one of the deputies for Mayenne. Some three weeks ago he came to live here, and he occupies the room on the far side of the landing.”
“Mayenne! Why, that Department borders on Ille et Vilaine, in which Rennes and Bécherel are situated! I pray God there is no likelihood of his recognising you?”
Athénaïs shrugged. “ ’Tis most improbable that we should have met before the Revolution, and had we done so more recently one of us would have remembered it ere this. Yet on another score he has caused me some disquiet. Since the report of your death reached Paris towards the end of December, I have been looked on here as a widow, and Citizen Candalous has made no secret of his desire to console me.”
“Damn his impudence!” exclaimed Roger. “Should he knock on your door again, kindly tell him that do I catch him at it I will give him a caning he will long remember.”
“Oh, Rojé,” she laughed, “what a child you are! I am well capable of looking after myself, and your arm would grow prodigious tired did you give a caning to every man who casts sheep’s eyes at me.”
He kissed her. “Yes, I am a fool; seeing your beauty, how could it be otherwise? Still, while living on your own, to have an unwelcome admirer pressing his attentions from across the landing may well prove annoying for you: so, with your permission, I will move in here.”
“Rojé, that would be heavenly! But I thought your position compelled you to live in the Granvilliers Section?”
“
To retain a room there will be sufficient for official purposes. Citizen Candalous’s designs upon you apart, having obtained your forgiveness, I could now no longer bear to be separated from you.”
“He has reminded us of one thing. We have not supped, and after your long journey you must be monstrous hungry.”
Again he pulled her to him. “Your kisses had driven all thought of food from my mind, but I should have remembered that you might be hungry. In any case, I owe it to good Maître Blanchard to shake him by the hand and let him know that I mean to take up my quarters here. So one more kiss, then we’ll go down.”
The residents and regulars of the hostelry had all finished their evening meal, but Maître Blanchard took their order himself and fetched up a special bottle of Burgundy for them. He was overjoyed to see Roger alive, and, when they had finished supper, insisted that they should join him in his parlour for a glass of his Vieux Calvados, where they received his formal compliments on their reunion and talked with him for a while. Madame Blanchard was better, he told them, and would be delighted to hear that she was to have them both under her roof.
At eleven o’clock they went hand in hand upstairs to bed, both a little awed by the thought of the magical change wrought in their situations by a divine Providence since they had awoken that morning. Lonely, bitter and depressed, Athénaïs had risen to face another day, believing him to be dead; while he, in the discomfort of the coach, had roused up to wonder grimly if he would survive for more than a few days after reporting himself to the Comité, and, if he did, whether he would then find that she had either been caught and guillotined, or was now determined never to forgive him. She could still hardly credit that she was not living in a dream, and, every few moments, clenched his fingers hard between her own in a new endeavour to assure herself of his reality. He looked deep into her starry eyes, now lit by the moonlight; and, knowing as he did that Paris had become more than ever a city of dreariness and terror, he still could not understand how the joys and security of London, or the easy conquest of Adèle, had tempted him to remain away from her for a single hour longer than he could help.
The Man who Killed the King Page 58