The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  “Jean Marc wasn’t pleased I decided to stay in Paris. He’d prefer I let him hide me away until he can arrange to send me to Vasaro. I thought it wiser to slip away when I decided to see you.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t difficult. All day he’s either been closeted in his study with huge mountains of documents or speeding off in his carriage to meet someone or other.”

  “I’m afraid I concur with Andreas. I’d prefer you hide away also.” His expression hardened. “And I don’t appreciate you coming to my home and risking both your discovery and my own. Raoul Dupree has come to call almost every day of late and I’d not like to give him reason to ask me awkward questions.”

  “Well, I could hardly go to the assembly, and I had to see you.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the mantel. “I’d be fascinated to learn why.”

  “I need your help.”

  “To leave Paris?”

  “No.” She gestured impatiently. “You sound like Jean Marc. I’m not ready to leave Paris yet. I have something to do first.”

  “Indeed?”

  “I want to speak to the queen.”

  He gazed at her incredulously and then chuckled. “So you’ve come to me? What makes you think I’ll help you?”

  “I’m going to find a way to speak to her no matter what. I thought you might prefer to arrange a safe way for me to get into the Temple and out again.” She smiled sweetly. “You wouldn’t want me to be caught. It might be awkward for you.”

  “A good point. And exactly what subject do you wish to discuss with Her Majesty?”

  “That’s my concern.”

  “What if I demand to know as a price for my help?”

  “I’ll find help at a cheaper price.”

  Danton laughed. “Merde, but you have audacity. It’s a quality I admire.”

  “You’ll help me?”

  His smile vanished. “Don’t rush me. I’m thinking about it. You wish only to speak to the queen? You have no intention of trying to arrange helping her escape?”

  Juliette hesitated. “Not at this time.” She rushed on. “Though you should not have placed them in that horrible place.”

  “It’s not so terrible. They have many comforts.” Juliette de Clement was clearly involved in a plot of some sort and reckless enough to risk all their heads if it suited her. Still, audacity often carried the day, and it had always been his opinion it would be better for France if the royal family did escape before the Jacobins sent Louis to the guillotine. The moment the king was beheaded, Danton hadn’t the slightest doubt that both England and Spain would declare war. “Why do you think I’ll be able to get you into the Temple?”

  “You’re a man who wants to know everything that’s going on around him. Why else would you hire François Etchelet? The royal family is a danger to your new republic and you make sure you know everything concerning them. Isn’t that true?”

  Danton nodded. “You’re very perceptive. I did have François study their situation at the Temple in some depth when they were transferred there from the Tuileries.”

  “And you can get me in?”

  “We can get almost anyone into the Temple, according to François. Hebert’s precautions are laughable. Entry cards are issued to practically anyone who asks.” He paused. “But it would be impossible to get any member of the royal family out. They’re very closely guarded.”

  “I don’t want to get anyone out except myself.”

  Danton thought for a moment. “The lamplighter who goes every evening to the Temple often takes members of his family along, and I understand the faces of the members of his family change with his fortunes. A small bribe should suffice.”

  “I don’t have any money and I don’t want to ask Jean Marc. He mustn’t know about this.”

  “Why not?”

  “If he doesn’t want me to go out on the street, do you think he’d want me to go to the Temple?” She frowned. “He’s not being at all reasonable regarding this matter.”

  Danton smothered a smile. “I regret not being able to offer you any funds, but I’m only a poor republican official.”

  “Let me think.” Juliette was silent a moment. “François. Jean Marc gave him a fortune for marrying Catherine. He can pay the bribe.”

  “Perhaps. If he wishes to become involved.”

  “He’s already involved.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’ll help you. François is a brilliant man, but he can be blind to practicalities on occasion. Two years ago he showed up on my doorstep fresh from the Basque country, burning with the fever of the revolution, begging to serve me in any way I asked of him.” Danton’s lips twisted in a half smile. “Some of the things I asked were not exactly as pure as his ideals, but he never said no to me. He believes the republic will live forever because the Rights of Man are just and good.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I believe the republic will be what we make it whether good or evil.” He tilted his head. “And what do you believe in, Citizeness?”

  She rose to her feet. “I believe people should be left in peace to do what they wish to do.” She drew her hood over her head. “And I believe that people who take away that peace should be punished. Will you speak to François or shall I?”

  “I haven’t said I’d cooperate with you.”

  “But you will?”

  Danton hesitated and then nodded slowly. “And I’ll speak to François. I’ve noticed you lack a certain diplomacy of expression.”

  She nodded briskly. “When? It must be soon.”

  “Today. And if all goes well, you’ll go to the Temple tomorrow evening. I’ll see that the queen receives a message to the effect that if she goes for a walk in the courtyard when the sun is about to set, she may be pleasantly surprised.” He bowed mockingly. “If that will suit your convenience.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be here at—”

  “No, I’ll tell François to meet you down the street from the Andreas house just before dusk. I have no wish to have you on my doorstep again.” His lips twisted. “Your disguise leaves a great deal to be desired.”

  “I had no time to think about disguises.”

  “I suggest you take the time if you intend to continue to dash about Paris.”

  “I will.” She started for the door. “I suppose you’re right and it would be wise to—”

  A soft knock sounded at the door and his wife opened the door. “Georges Jacques, it’s Citizen Dupree.” Her tone was stilted. “Shall I show him in?”

  “In a moment, chérie. Don’t tell him of our visitor.”

  “I’ll not speak to him at all. It makes me ill to look at him.” Gabrielle shut the door.

  Nor did she speak often to her own husband anymore, Danton thought with a wrenching pang. She shrank away from him as she did from anyone connected with the massacres.

  He turned abruptly away and gestured toward the door on the other side of the study. “That door leads to a small garden with a gate that lets out onto the street. Hurry.”

  Juliette moved quickly across the room. “Tomorrow.”

  Danton nodded and then watched dully as the door closed behind her. He was not thinking of his rash young visitor, but of his wife. Gabrielle would forgive him in time. Their love was too deep to be lost because of politics. In a few months she would be fine again.

  “Georges Jacques, I dropped by to bring you the latest copy of ‘Père Duchesne’.” Danton turned to see Dupree standing in the doorway. Dupree moved forward and dropped a copy of Marat’s inflammatory pamphlet on the desk. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d give you one of the first copies.”

  “You’re too kind, Citizen.”

  Dupree shrugged. “I believe in serving my friends well.” He crossed to the window. “I’ll be glad to wait for—” He broke off, stiffening, his gaze on the street.

  “What’s wrong?” Danton quickly crossed the study to stand beside Dupree. Juliette de Clement was disappearin
g around the corner, but nothing was visible except the back of her cloak, he noticed with relief. “Is something amiss, Citizen?”

  “Perhaps not.” Dupree frowned. “That woman looked familiar.”

  “Which woman?”

  “The woman in the brown cloak. She’s gone now.”

  “You know her?”

  “There was something in the way she moved.”

  “You frequent the Comédie Française. Perhaps she’s an actress you’ve had occasion to see there.”

  “Possibly.” Dupree shrugged. “However, if I do know her, I’ll eventually remember. I have an excellent memory.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Danton strolled to the desk and picked up the pamphlet. “What’s the subject of Marat’s ravings today?”

  Dupree turned immediately from the window. “You should not speak of him in that way. He’s a true friend of the republic.”

  “But sometimes we must forget loyalties toward one friend when we make another.” Danton paused meaningfully. “I have no liking for Marat.”

  Dupree hesitated and then smiled ingratiatingly. “Naturally, I would not care to display my dislike of being in his service until I had a position I esteemed more.”

  Mother of God, the man would betray the devil himself if offered a higher place. Danton was careful to mask his disgust. “I can understand your caution.”

  “But this wouldn’t be a suitable time to relinquish my position. I’m leaving tomorrow for Andorra on a very important mission. Perhaps we can talk when I return?”

  “Andorra?” Danton frowned. “Spain? What business has Marat with the Spaniards?”

  “A concern of great importance to France, and naturally he would trust it to no one but me.”

  “Naturally.” Dupree was evidently not going to confide the nature of that concern, Danton thought with annoyance. What the devil was Marat doing with his filthy fingers in foreign affairs? “You said you’ll leave tomorrow?”

  Dupree nodded. “Marat’s given me permission to stop off and spend a fortnight of rest with my mother, who lives on the outskirts of Paris in the village of Clairemont. It’s a difficult trip across the Pyrenees.”

  Then the “concern” while important was not urgent. “After your efforts of last month I can see how you’d need a rest,” Danton said without expression as he picked up his hat and gloves. “Come, it’s time we started for the convention.”

  Marie Antoinette’s hair was white.

  “Keep your head down,” the lamplighter whispered. “I told you not to look up once we were in the courtyard.”

  Juliette hastily lowered her gaze and reached up to tie the woolen kerchief more securely under her chin. Her hands were trembling and her throat tight with tears. The queen’s hair was white. It wasn’t perfumed or powdered. She didn’t have on a wig as Juliette had seen her wear on so many occasions when she had first come to Versailles. Marie Antoinette was only thirty-six and she looked twice those years.

  “Stop gaping at her.” The lamplighter lit the lamp to the left of the gate. “Do you want to get thrown into the Tower with her?”

  “She looks so different.”

  “Stand over there in the shadows. I’ll send her over to have a word with you. But only five minutes, you understand? When I finish lighting my lamps, we leave.”

  Juliette obediently moved into the shadows beneath the looming Tower. Dusk had completely claimed the courtyard of the Temple and in her drab brown gown and kerchief she knew she’d be virtually invisible to any but the closest observer.

  The queen was not ill dressed. Her black cloak was well made and the muff she carried was of marten fur, but her garments might as well have belonged to a prosperous innkeeper’s wife instead of the queen of France. Poor Marie Antoinette had lost everything but her family—and even some of them had been taken from her. The king’s brothers, the Comte de Provence and the Comte d’Artois, had escaped to Austria and his spinster sisters to Italy. Marie Antoinette’s firstborn son, Louis Joseph, the dauphin, had died tragically in 1789 at the same time the queen’s entire world was vanishing around her.

  Now Marie Antoinette had only her big, gentle husband, her sister-in-law, Madame Elizabeth, her daughter Marie Thérèse, and little Louis Charles, who was now the dauphin and heir apparent to the throne.

  “Juliette?” Marie Antoinette peered into the shadows. “Is it truly you? All that dirt on your face …”

  Juliette started to curtsy and then caught herself. The daughter of a republican lamplighter would hardly show respect for royalty. “It’s I. The lamplighter thought I looked too clean, so he rubbed some soot on my cheeks.”

  “More than a little. You look like a street urchin.” The queen came forward and reached out to gently touch Juliette’s left cheek. “But yes, I know those bold eyes. I thought you were dead. They told me of the massacre at the abbey and I thought …” She trailed off and shivered. “Did you hear what those brutes did to the Princess de Lambelle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Her head was on a pike and they told me they shot her limbs from a cannon.” Tears misted the queen’s eyes. “She was safe in England and returned to stay by my side and they killed her for it. They’re killing everyone. Soon there will be no one left.” She closed her eyes tightly and when she opened them the tears had vanished. “And how is my sweet Celeste? Is your mother well, Juliette?”

  “Yes.”

  “And safe?”

  “Yes, she fled France for Spain during the massacres.”

  “Bon. I often think of her and pray for her safety.”

  “Are you comfortable here?”

  “Oh, yes, it is not too bad. They see that we have decent enough food and the guards are not too unpleasant. They even brought me a clavichord from the Louvre.” She frowned. “Of course, they stare a great deal. I do not like to be stared at.”

  She had never liked excessive attention, Juliette remembered. That was why she would run away from the principal palace to the smaller palace of Petit Trianon or the village of Le Hameau to play among her flowers and lavish toys. “Perhaps they’ve never seen a queen before.”

  Marie Antoinette raised her head. “Well, they’ve seen one now. I’ll show them how a queen deports herself.” Then the momentary regalness vanished and she was once more only a sad-faced woman who was older than her years. “You must go, child. It was kind of you to come and see me, but it’s dangerous for you to stay. That grotesque Hebert is in charge of our captivity. He’s a true canaille. He would like nothing better than to cause me more pain by hurting you.”

  Juliette drew a deep breath. “I came for a reason,” she rushed on. “I want the Wind Dancer.”

  The queen stiffened. “You always did. Even as a child you loved my statue.” Her expression became cold. “The Wind Dancer is mine. I won’t give it up.”

  “Jean Marc Andreas still wishes to own it. You remember Jean Marc?”

  “How could I forget him?” Marie Antoinette said dryly. “He’s not a man who slips readily from one’s memory.”

  “He’s willing to give me two million livres for the statue. Wouldn’t that be enough money to buy your way out of prison and help you to escape to Austria?”

  The queen went still. “Perhaps. The guards have been willing to accept small bribes to provide us with additional comforts.”

  “Tell me where the Wind Dancer is and I’ll go and get it. I’ll sell it to Jean Marc and then give you the money.”

  “Not to me.” The queen frowned in thought. “I could do nothing with it here. However, there’s a group loyal to me in the city who would possibly help. Go to the Café du Chat on the Pont Neuf and ask for William Darrell.”

  The lamplighter had finished his round and was walking slowly toward them across the courtyard.

  “There’s not much time. Where may I find the Wind Dancer?”

  Marie Antoinette’s gaze searched Juliette’s. “Can I trust you, Juliette? I meant to save the Wind Dancer for my little L
ouis Charles. He may not ever be the king of France, but the Wind Dancer would provide for him.”

  “It’s better to save yourself and the rest of the royal household than a statue.”

  “Yes, I suppose …”

  “He’s coming. Be quick.”

  “It’s in the Belvedere. I had Monsieur Minque include a cache beneath the sphinx when he first designed it. I had the Wind Dancer hidden there when they told me that horrible mob was marching on Versailles.”

  Juliette was thinking frantically, trying to remember. The Belvedere was a pavilion behind the Petit Trianon but there were several sphinxes flanking the steps of the Belvedere. “Which sphinx?”

  “The one on the left of the door directly facing the lake.”

  The queen put her hands in her fur muff. “Do not betray me, Juliette. I have so few people I can trust.”

  She turned and hurried away, and a moment later she disappeared into the entrance of the large Tower.

  Juliette gazed after her, her emotions in tumult. She had not expected to feel such melancholy. Over the years she had tried to vanquish the affection she felt for the queen. She had told herself it was foolish for her to care for someone who had no more fondness for her than she did for the lambs of Le Hameau. She had told herself that only her painting was important and Marie Antoinette didn’t matter in her life. Yet today all she could remember was that long-ago night when she had first met Marie Antoinette and the queen had taken her in her arms and cradled her and asked her to be her friend. Poor butterfly. All the brilliant flowers of her garden had withered and now she, too, was fading away.

  “Here now. Don’t just stand there. Come along,” the lamplighter said, low and harsh.

  Juliette reluctantly turned away from the doorway through which Marie Antoinette had disappeared. She fell meekly into step behind the lamplighter, following him across the courtyard toward the gate.

  François Etchelet was as grimly silent on the drive from the Temple as he had been when he had met Juliette earlier. Clearly, he was not pleased with her. At first his reticence suited Juliette very well. She was finding it difficult to shake off the depression that had settled on her since she had met with the queen. They were near the Place Royale when Juliette finally roused herself to speak. “I don’t see why you’re angry with me. It was you who told me I shouldn’t remain with Catherine.