Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (17 page)

He considered it. There was desired playing on his face, disappointment in himself, perhaps, in me, and he glanced at Marie-Louise, and licked his lips in brief horror. Finally, he shook his head and my heart fell. ‘No. What is there left? You have nothing concrete to offer. I will be something Adam would have been proud of; in fact, I will conquer him by climbing so high, I can wipe his filthy name from history, and our family will start from me, my grandchildren and their offspring will nodding at the mention of my name, admiring me and you will be blanks in the family history. No, all our family must fall.’

‘Sar
a is alive,’ I said, with kindled hope. ‘You cannot kill your mother.’

He grabbed my throat. ‘No, she was killed in the house.
Georges did not say who killed her, but I suppose it does not matter. Spares me the trouble. He fooled you, though. There is no determined police looking for you two. None. And now I will do what I must, and stab you in your skinny belly, and see your innards. Fight if you will, it will just give me more will to finish this.’ He grinned uncertainly, gathering strength for murder, grabbed the dagger and I struggled desperately, wounded in mind and body for betrayal and blade and then, a woman with a commanding voice was shouting something in goddess-like anger.

He hesitated, and I kicked blindly,
luckily throwing him back. He growled in hate, raised his eye to meet a regal woman in high feather hat and she was staring at us.

It was the queen
in all her glory.

She stood there, her face a
heavy mask of makeup and unhappy anger was lingering under it, and two burly guards flanked her, as if they were the extensions of her impending wrath. Her nose was high, lines of worry evident under her powdered face, and the dress she wore shone like a sun with golden thread on blue velvet.

‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’ she demanded imperiously
. More royal women and men were clamoring in confusion in the gallery behind her, trying to peak inside the room. Gilbert took a step back, then another. Then he ran.

The woman walked forward, hesitantly. There were
sharply echoing shots in the palace. She looked at Marie-Louise and blanched, then at me. I struggled to get on my knees. She walked over and eyed me critically. Then, she gave me a handkerchief rich with decorations and her initials in silver thread. She smiled at me briefly. ‘My dear. Can you please tell your kind that I never said that if you are starving, eat cake.’ I could not help but grin, and nod, and then there were shouts nearby. One of the guards mouthed an oath, lifted a musket and fired. The queen cursed in anger, and went as the other guard pulled at her. I saw a woman dying in the room beyond, one of us. A dozen angry women and men went past, as I picked myself up. I grasped the handkerchief; not daring to daub it in blood, for it was a precious thing. I went to Marie-Louise, closed her lifeless eyes, and cried bitterly for her, and for the fear Gilbert brought back to our lives. The terrible Parisians ransacked much of the Queen’s bedroom; killed some hapless guards and then they cut their heads off. They were animals at loose and that entire fanciful splendor, all the food the court had? The starving and deprived were beyond reason. However, I only thought about Gilbert and Georges. What could we do as Georges had betrayed us? We had to trust simpering, gentle Camille. Then I remembered it was Camille, who found Marie-Louise, and I despaired.

The
betrayed king and irascible queen did not die, not that day. By one in the afternoon, things calmed, thanks to Lafayette. That evening, we accompanied the sullen royal family to rebellious Paris. I sat on a creaky carriage, listless, saw Georges had men eyeing me, but I cried for dead Marie-Louise, and how she had died a hopeless death too early. I had loved her, strangely, one of the few people who had helped me, a kindred spirit. I thought of Gilbert and despaired. I was afraid, Marie. Very afraid.

In Paris, accompanied by two men, I went to mother, and when she saw me, her face turned white. I was bloody and tear splattered and after
she had cleaned my wound, she stormed off.

Camille was in trouble, for mother burst to his
Spartan office in a fury like a mad Valkyrie. His future wife, Lucile, was there, looking at the scene with her eyes nearly popping out of her skull, for mother was raging mercilessly over what had happened. I had not seen Lucile before. She was far prettier than Camille had given her credit for, with long, braided hair and smooth skin, which was rapidly paling as mother accused Camille brutally. ‘Did you know Gilbert was alive?’ Henriette yelled, throwing a very heavy book at him, which he did not manage to dodge. I gazed at the crazy scene from the doorway. ‘Georges has betrayed us. Tell me! If you knew, then we are lost. We cannot trust you, anyone, in fact! I trusted you!’

‘No, dear!’ he
said, panicking, eyeing Lucile and begging mother with his eyes to remain silent.

I came forward. ‘Did you hire Marie-Louise personally, so she would be sacrificed to Gilbert as well? Did you…’

‘No!’ he said, horrified. ‘I obeyed Georges!’

Henriette looked deep into his eyes, a devilish fury playing under her delicate features and he thrust us both into despair. ‘Well yes! I knew he was alive, but surely, you cannot think Georges would betray you. I…’ he stammered, and then cried bitterly as mother stood in front of him, fuming.

‘Did you suspect Jeanette was in trouble?’ she asked evenly.

Camille’s face went red from shame, and he looked away.
‘No,’ he said weakly, and no matter if he spoke the truth or not, we were lost, indeed.

Lucile, the meek thing that was to be Camille’s wife got up, but mother spat at her feet and she sat
back down, slowly and very prudently, yet smoldering with barely contained anger. Lucile was afraid, but there was hurt behind her eyes, and she understood there was something more going on between mother and Camille than mere friendship. Henriette pushed a finger in Camille’s chest. ‘He needs money so bad; he is to sell my daughter to Gilbert? He tried to rape and kill her, perhaps, that terrible night. Now, he killed a girl and tried to kill Jeanette!’ Henriette screamed at him, and he nodded, tears flowing.

‘My dear, I am sorry. I did not think he would do something like this. That is why I took you here, so you would be safe, but Gilbert, he is mad. He is very clever, and Georges has used him to run orders and errands, but most of all, he needs the fortune of Colbert. I will ask him. I will make sure you are safe.’ He glanced at
suspecting Lucile, who got up, and walked out. ‘I love you, Henriette,’ Camille dared to say in inconspicuously small voice after his wife-to-be had left.

Mother hissed.
‘My husband with his falsehoods, Georges with his letters of fucking love, you with your weaknesses. All you say these words but I think all you perverted, twisted fuckers trying to hurt us. But I will not let you. Never again. Where is Georges?’

‘He is… d
o not go there,’ Camille said, getting up and falling on a long bench, coins falling from his pocket, clinking and rolling all across the wooden seat, rolling on the floor. I stared at the bench and the coins and then I suddenly had an idea and laughed aloud, though I was not sure I was correct. I got up and followed Camille, who had barely caught up with Henriette, and I saw some uncouth men of Georges roughly ending her wild struggles, while Camille pleaded for her to calm. I sneaked past them and walked to the old convent, a man following me desperately. I ran and reached the doors, sneaking in to witness a large crowd, jubilant and abrasive at the same time, and started to push through them. I heard Georges talking forcefully to the crowd, and happiness abounded, for the king and the queen were now in Paris, and the Cordeliers felt coercive and potent. Then, I saw him there, thrumming his hand on the long-suffering pulpit, his back straight. His eyes turned my way, and he stammered. People looked at him in wonder and astonishment, and I saw his glimmering eyes follow me as I climbed the staircase to where his office was. He finished his oratory quickly; promising changes and great things, and then he came after me.

I stood in front of his office. The door was locked. He stopped in the hallway and took his
clinking keys out. He came forward, skirting me carefully as he opened the door, his face featureless, not showing a hint emotion and I walked in before him. I sat on Colbert’s stone bench as Danton closed the door. He grunted and stalked closer to me, gazing at my bloodied hair carefully. I pointed a finger at him. ‘Do not worry, Georges. I have no pistols. You shot Sara then? Nobody was accusing us?’

He shrugged, the truth evident.

I continued: ‘did you take Marie-Louis from the street because Gilbert asked you to?’ He looked very guilty but did not answer. He sat down on his desk, looking at his hands as if wondering if the deeds would show there. I continued. ‘Did you send us there, and told that creep Maillard to keep us where Gilbert could get us? So Gilbert would give you Colbert’s wealth? For he knows where it is.’ Again, he did not answer, his hard face, and huge body barely moving as he sat there.

‘Did you,’ I hissed, ‘lie to mother in that letter?’

‘I did not!’ he said, slamming his fist on the table, startling pigeons to frenzied flight from the windowsill. ‘I did not, Jeanette. As for the rest, there are no great men out there who have not been faced with these hard choices.’ He looked mildly sick at his own words, but he waved his hand. ‘I need a fortune. Even that is not enough. In the end, I will make a fortune, if I get to the government, but in order to make gold, I need gold.’

‘I wonder how many truly great men have done what you did. You are a selfish, arrogant upstart. I hope you fail.’

He threw an inkwell to the wall, where it broke with a jingling note, his face full of anger. ‘There are few uncorrupted men like Camille, Jeanette, and if they would get power, they would die sad, swift deaths to men like me. It is best that men who seek riches and power rule, instead of just one, like a king. The new men, men like me will balance each other, we will listen to the hungry people, for we have to, in order to stay in power. One man ruling is an abomination compared to a group of greedy ones! Moreover, I did love your mother. I do! But how could I just drop everything? And you lied to me, about your father. You only wanted to…’

‘Kill him. Yes. How dare you deny us that?’

We stared at each other, unsure what to say.

He took a ragged breath. ‘You are very mature for your age Jeanette. So is Gilbert.
He has ideas very surprising for such a young man. He is rich, he is devious and smart. He will be here shortly. I have men holding Camille and your mother. I am sorry, Jeanette. I love you, but I need…’

‘Did Camille know?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, and I wondered if he only wanted to smear Camille for his feelings over Henriette.

I got up. ‘Do you know why Gilbert did not sneak away from your
stupid guards, and go fetch the money? He could have, you know.’

‘I have good men watching you all. And had you given your father to me…’

‘Gilbert could not get to the coin,’ I said, and prayed I was right. I got up and grunted as I pried at the stone bench. I tapped it hard, it was hollow indeed. I saw the edges of the cover, and put my fingers on the cracks of the seat, for there was a visible dent in it, but it was stuck, impossible to move. I fetched a poker from the fireplace and hammered down on the bench so hard my arms hurt. I kept at it, sweating, my arms aching with my herculean efforts and then the top broke with a dull noise and thin stone dust billowing up to my face made me cough dryly.

‘What in the devil…’ Georges was asking
slowly and then he saw the well-padded sacks inside the bench.

‘He was literally sitting on his coin and disda
ined any other ways of storing it and father wanted to find a seat for himself, that much he told us, before he died,’ I said. ‘That Fourier whore kept a close eye on the garden. Here, your fortune.’ He walked to me and pushed me aside gently. He ogled the contents, pulling out pieces of stone, ran his finger across many very heavy leather pouches jingling gently to his touch, and then put his hand on his forehead.

Gilbert entered and we all stared at the bench. After what seemed like ages, Georges got up
on wobbly knees.

‘Gilbert. You will serve as a liaison between the Jacobin Club and the Cordeliers, and you get
intimate trust and an important position under me. We will try your plan as well, and if that works, we are all tied with blood. You will also find out things about my many enemies and few friends alike. You will be feared, and you will fear me alone. And I will have a specific need for you, the one we discussed. If that succeeds, you are made.’

‘And her?’ he asked, darkly, his eye glittering with desire.

‘I will give you power, Gilbert, it will have to do.’

‘It is not enough,’ Gilbert
said evenly. ‘I am the Revenant. She cannot survive and prosper. Some people know she is the one who killed me.’ His hands were clawing air, as he worried.

I started to say something to him, but he shook his head, apparently beyond such gestures. He
worried; worried greatly, his plans dashed again, but Georges had promised him position even if he did not deliver the coin, and he was weighing how to make sure his future was secure. He wanted us all dead in order to reinvent himself. He was mad and determined.