Surrender to a Stranger (42 page)

“You speak of your life as if it were a commodity of little value,” he observed.

She looked away, staring into the flames of the little fire burning in the hearth. “Before Monsieur St. James rescued me, I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to die,” she told him quietly. “I felt my life had been destroyed, and I had ceased to care what became of me. But Armand insisted that I live, regardless of whether I wanted to or not. If not for his determination to save me, he would not be in La Force right now, and you and I would not be having this conversation.” She pulled her gaze away from the fire to look at him. “If I sound casual where my life is concerned, please do not misunderstand. It is not that I wish to die. It is simply that if Armand is executed because I unwittingly led him into a trap, I do not wish to live.”

He stared at her in silence a moment. “He has made a great impact on many lives,” he finally murmured softly.

Jacqueline regarded him curiously. “Did he rescue you as well?”

He nodded. “My mother, sister, and I were about to be arrested,” he told her. “Armand learned of it, and got us out of our house before the National Guard arrived. He put my mother and sister in plain caskets and got them beyond the barricades by telling the guards he had rotting corpses in his cart.”

Jacqueline looked at him in amazement. “Didn’t the guards demand he open one of the caskets so they could see?”

Justin smiled. “It was summer, and the day was stiflingly hot. Armand placed another casket on top of theirs, and filled it with rancid meat and rotting vegetables. The stench was so bad, when the guards neared the cart they simply held their breath and waved him on. Not one of them was brave enough to risk a look inside.”

Jacqueline looked at him with amusement. It was obvious Armand never ran out of creative ideas. “Where is your family now?”

“They both went to England with Armand. Within six weeks my sister fell madly in love with a composer and married. She is now expecting their first child.”

“And your mother?”

“My mother grew very fond of Armand, and decided to accept his offer to stay and work for him.”

Jacqueline looked at him incredulously. “Your mother works for Armand?”

He nodded. “As his housekeeper.”

Jacqueline stared at him, taking in his wavy blond hair and his emerald-green eyes. “Your mother is Madame Bonnard,” she exclaimed suddenly, recognizing the similarity between the two.

“Yes.”

“I knew when I met her she looked familiar, but I could not imagine why,” she recalled.

“My family had known Armand for many years, from when he was a young man and used to visit France for months at a time,” explained Justin. “Since my father was dead, and my sister and her husband only had a small apartment, my mother had no where to go. And so Armand offered her work, knowing that pride would keep her from simply moving in and living off his charity.”

Jacqueline was silent as she absorbed this information. Justin had known Armand for years. Which meant he probably knew his wife. She was unable to control her curiosity. “Did you know Lucette?”

“I met her a few times,” he admitted, “but I did not really know her.”

“What was she like?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“She was very beautiful,” he recalled. “And very amusing. She loved to make people laugh.”

“I see,” murmured Jacqueline vacantly. She did not know what else to say.

He looked at her curiously for a moment. “He means a great deal to you, doesn’t he?” he demanded finally.

She looked away, unable to face his searching gaze. “He gave me back my life,” she replied simply. “I want to do the same for him.”

He was silent for a while. Finally he sighed. “Do you have any valuables?”

“I brought some money,” she replied. “In French
livres,
not
assignats,”
she clarified, referring to the government-issued banknotes that by now were virtually worthless.

He shook his head. “The help we will need is expensive,” he told her. “Information, forged documents, transportation. Armand always paid in either silver or gold. That way you can be assured of quality and discretion.”

Jacqueline thought back to the jewels hidden in the Château de Lambert. The château would have been confiscated and undoubtedly stripped of its furnishings, but it was possible no one had discovered her hiding place. It would be extremely risky to go back there. If she was caught at the château, she would never get the opportunity to free Armand. She tried not to think about that.

“I know where I can get some,” she informed him.

“Good.” He rose from his chair. “For now, you will eat something. Then you must get some rest. We will begin planning in the morning.”

Jacqueline would have liked to start planning immediately, but she meekly rose and followed Justin to the kitchen, where Philippe was devouring a loaf of bread and a bowl of stew. Justin fixed her a plate, and after she had eaten he led her and Philippe upstairs. Jacqueline was given the same room in which Armand had transformed her from a revolutionary youth to a farmer’s wife, which was across from Justin’s own room. Philippe was given a room down the hall. Exhausted from her long journey, Jacqueline quickly washed and changed into her nightdress, then wearily climbed into bed. She was about to put out her candle when she heard the sound of someone moving outside her door. Thinking that Justin wished to speak to her again, she rose from the bed and went to see what he wanted.

Curled up on the bare floor in front of her doorway lay Philippe, still fully dressed and with only one thin blanket draped over him to protect him from the cold.

“Philippe, what on earth are you doing?” she demanded in a whisper.

He raised himself up on one elbow and looked at her. “I thought I would sleep here by your door, just in case you needed me,” he informed her simply.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chided. “Why ever would I need you in the middle of the night? Go back to your own room at once.”

Philippe did not move, but instead looked meaningfully at the door to Justin’s room across the hall. “I think I’ll just sleep here, if it’s all the same to you,” he replied. He lowered himself back down to the floor and closed his eyes.

Jacqueline stared at him in exasperation. And then suddenly it dawned on her why he wanted to stay so close. Philippe was worried about her safety where Justin was concerned. Although touched by his concern, she certainly did not want him sleeping in the hallway all night. Nor did she wish to argue with him about it when Justin might hear the two of them and possibly be insulted.

“Philippe, please come in here for a moment so we can discuss this,” she whispered softly as she held the door open for him.

He looked at her suspiciously a moment before gathering himself up off the floor and following her into her room.

Jacqueline closed the door behind him and then regarded him with just a hint of amusement. “Philippe, I am most touched by your concern for me, but I can assure you it is not necessary. Nothing untoward is going to happen this evening, and I would like it very much if you would go back to your room and go to bed.”

He shrugged his shoulders, obviously unconvinced. “A lady like you doesn’t know about men,” he said with grave authority. “Since I do, I know that I would rather sleep in front of your door. I don’t mind the floor. I’m used to it.” He moved to open the door.

“You cannot sleep in the hallway,” announced Jacqueline firmly.

He shrugged his shoulders again. “You can’t stop me,” he told her.

Jacqueline sighed. She was touched by his concern, however unwarranted she felt it to be. She did not believe Justin posed any threat to her, but how could she make this boy, who lived on the streets among drunks and thieves and whores, see that? And she did not want to be having this conversation anyway. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and get some much-needed sleep.

“Very well,” she relented. “If you are that worried about my virtue, then you do not have to go to your room.”

“Good,” he replied as he reached for the door handle.

“You may stay in here with me.”

He turned and looked at her in disbelief. “What?”

“I will not have you sleeping on the floor when there is a perfectly fine bed in here that can easily accommodate both of us,” she informed him as she went to turn down the covers.

“Citizeness Duport, or whatever your name is, there is no way I am going to get into that bed with you,” he informed her flatly.

Jacqueline fought to restrain a smile. Only three months earlier she had told the same thing to Armand, then known to her as Citizen Julien. Propriety had seemed so important then, regardless of practicality or discomfort. “I believe logic dictates that since the bed is large enough, we share it,” she stated, recalling Armand’s words to her.

“Absolutely not,” said Philippe, clearly astounded by her suggestion. “It isn’t proper.”

Jacqueline sighed. It was obvious this boy saw himself not as a child, as she did, but as a man, and there was no way she could change that without causing him insult. She decided to compromise.

“Take these pillows and this blanket and arrange them on the floor so you can lie on them,” she instructed as she tossed down the pillows from the bed.

Evidently that request seemed reasonable to him. He quickly made up a bed for himself on the floor. He was just lowering himself down onto it when a new thought occurred to her.

“Philippe, did you wash?” she asked.

He looked at her in confusion. “Wash what?”

“Yourself,” she clarified. “Your face, your hands, your teeth—was there not soap and water laid out in your room?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t shrug your shoulders, Philippe, it isn’t polite. Was there soap and water?”

“I guess,” he replied disinterestedly.

“Well, that was for washing. Since you are here now, however, you may use mine. There is fresh water in that jug. Get up and scrub your face and hands thoroughly, and rinse your teeth.”

He gave her a mutinous look. “If you want I can sleep in the hall—” he offered threateningly.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” she informed him. “It will, however, be necessary for you to wash, if you want me to ask Justin to make you a nice, big breakfast tomorrow morning. If you are content with cold tea and gruel, that is fine, too. The choice is yours.” She smiled at him sweetly.

He gave her a dark scowl and got up. For the next few minutes she heard the splashing of water and what was possibly cursing, but she tried not to notice. Finally he stomped back across the floor, his bruised and cut face now relatively clean. With a huff of annoyance he threw himself against his makeshift bed and drew the blanket up over his shoulder.

Jacqueline blew out the candle and lay in silence, waiting for sleep to claim her. But after a while she realized she could not sleep, and so she stared into the darkness, lost in contemplation of how she might gain entrance to La Force.

“I am going to go with you,” stated Philippe suddenly, piercing the silence with his unexpected declaration.

“What are you talking about?” demanded Jacqueline.

He lifted himself up on one elbow and looked at her. “I am going to go with you, to help you get this man out of La Force,” he informed her gravely.

“You were eavesdropping!”

“The walls in this house are thin,” he protested innocently.

“Liar—you were trying to hear,” accused Jacqueline.

“What does it matter? What is important is that I am going with you,” he pointed out.

“No, you most certainly are not,” countered Jacqueline.

“I could help you,” he insisted. “I look younger than my age. I have lived my life on the streets. I have no reason to love the aristocracy. Therefore I will not be suspect. But you will. As soon as you open your mouth you show everyone that you are an aristo. Look what happened today.”

“Today was an accident,” retorted Jacqueline defensively. “I was not expecting you to come crashing into me, and having to watch some filthy pig beat you to a bloody pulp over a loaf of bread.”

“That is exactly what I mean,” argued Philippe. “No one else in that crowd cared whether I got killed or not. You did. Things happen and you are quick to react, but you react as
you,
not as the person you are pretending to be.”

“I won’t make that mistake again,” asserted Jacqueline solemnly. “I will be more careful.”

“You need me,” insisted Philippe. “And I want to help.”

Jacqueline rolled over to the side of her bed and looked down at him. “Why?” she demanded. “Why do you want to help?”

She could not make him out very well in the darkness, but she knew he shrugged his shoulders.

“Because you risked yourself to help me,” he said simply. “No one has ever done that before.”

“And then when it looked like I was going to be arrested, you helped me by saying I had the plague. I got away because of you, so I would say we are even.”

“I am not offering to help because I feel I am in your debt,” retorted Philippe. “I will help you because I want to.”

Jacqueline sighed. She had no intention of using this boy to assist her with her mission. But she was far too tired to argue about it anymore. All she wanted to do was sleep. “We’ll see,” she said evasively as she turned over and closed her eyes.

That seemed to satisfy him. He settled back down on his pillows, and for the next few minutes neither of them spoke.

“What is your real name?” asked Philippe suddenly.

“What do you mean?” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep. “I told you, my name is Pauline Duport.”

“No,” he replied, obviously quite certain that she was lying. “I want to know your real name.”

She yawned. There was probably no harm in telling him. Was there? “Jacqueline.”

He was silent for a few moments, and Jacqueline supposed that he had finally fallen asleep. She snuggled into the blankets and prepared to let the same happen to her.

“Good night, Jacqueline.”

She awoke with a start. He had said her name slowly, with a languor and care that was achingly familiar. She blinked and looked around the room in confusion. When she realized that Armand was of course not there, she settled back, her fragile heart now trembling and filled with longing.