The English Heiress (21 page)

Roger did not need much convincing. They stopped for the night outside Pringy, about fifty kilometers from Paris, obtaining a bed and dinner in a farmhouse. The people were not willing to talk about what went on in the city. Roger could not guess whether they were merely taciturn or were frightened, and he was too cautious to press them further than a general question as to the latest news. He and Leonie did not make love that night. The bed they shared was in a large room where the farmer’s old father and aunt also slept.

Surprisingly, it was a wonderful experience, full of peace and joy. Roger was able to hold Leonie in his arms and feel her pliant body against his almost without desire, with only the memories of the rich tumult of passion to add warmth to the embrace. She clung to him, not speaking of fear, although each knew that it was possible this was their last night together. Still, there was no need in either for more than the embrace, the gentle touch of lips. It was solace and comfort enough; both found in it the courage to face the peril of the next day.

At first it seemed as if all their qualms had been imaginary. The questions at the gate were cursory. No one asked for identification or where Roger and Leonie came from. Instead, Roger was asked whether he was afraid of the Prussians. To this he replied quite truthfully that he was not in the least afraid of them. Would he fight to defend his country against them, he was next asked. By all means, he replied, barely restraining a smile. It was not likely, he said to Leonie after they drove away, that England and Prussia would come to blows, but he would certainly fight for England any time he was called on to do so. Leonie laughed, a bit more than the joke deserved, giddy with relief.

Because they were concerned exclusively with their own affairs, neither Roger nor Leonie stopped to think that the closing of the gates might not be to prevent people from entering the city but to keep them from leaving it. This only became clear after they met with their first shock of disappointment. The entry to Lord Gower’s residence was locked. This was not much of a surprise, considering the events of the past year. Roger rang the bell with a will until, finally the caretaker came down.

“Begone,” he said crossly. “There is no one here. Lord Gower has returned to England.”

“Returned! When?” Roger asked.

“He left five days ago. There is no one here except myself and my wife.”

“Good God!” Roger exclaimed. “But who is here to attend to the affairs of Englishmen?”

“No one, I say.” The caretaker turned away.

Roger rattled the gate ferociously. “Wait,” he ordered with a cold authority that stopped the caretaker in his tracks. “Where is Mr. Lindsay, the chargé d’affaires?”

“In Versailles, if he has not left also, but I think he has,” was the sullen reply.

Roger went back to where Leonie waited in the carriage with the strangest mixture of feelings. He had been so relieved when they passed the gate that he had for the moment forgotten he would lose Leonie when they reached Lord Gower. As he rang the bell, that realization had made his heart sink painfully. To hear Lord Gower was gone, which should have brought him near despair, had quite the opposite effect. Instead of worrying about the danger they would face, all Roger could think was that he would not lose Leonie.

Leonie’s emotions mirrored Roger’s almost exactly, with the exception that she had been wondering whether he would be glad to be free of her to look for a fresher and more interesting companion. Thus, when he said he had bad news and told it, he was rewarded with the sunniest of smiles.

“Well, that is a sad disappointment,” Leonie said brightly, not looking disappointed at all. “What shall we do next?”

“I suppose,” Roger replied slowly, “that we had better cross the city and take the road to Versailles. If Lindsay is about to leave, we can go with him. I doubt there will be any trouble about it—I know him fairly well. However, if he has left already…”

The sparkle of Leonie’s eyes had dimmed. She had thought that with Lord Gower gone Roger would be bound to her until they found another way to leave France, and leaving the country had definitely fallen very low on her list of priorities. First and foremost among those was keeping her hold on Roger. Leonie was more interested in avoiding Lindsay, whoever he was, than in catching him if that meant Roger’s responsibility for her would end.

“If he has already left, we could go on toward Brittany, if we had money. Roger, would it be safe, do you think, to try to obtain coin for those assignats you have? Do you know anyone who might do that?”

“I do,” Roger answered much more cheerfully. Leonie’s obvious indifference to Lord Gower’s departure improved the situation enormously. Then he reconsidered, frowning. “Well—I used to know people in Paris. God knows if the poor devils are still free, or even alive, and whether, if they are, they still have the resources to help me. There is another problem. If Lord Gower left under a cloud—that is, if England is about to declare war—it may not be wise to identify myself as an Englishman.”

“I wonder if we could pick up a newspaper?” Leonie suggested.

That was a practical move that could hold no danger, but it probably was not wise to drive a horse and carriage, even so shabby a vehicle as Roger had, all over town. Leonie suggested a stable not far from where they were, which she remembered from her earlier stay in Paris with her family, and they set out on foot for one of the political centers. It was one Leonie’s father had told her was republican but not violent about it. They expected a hive of activity, with people coming and going, where no one would notice another couple who came in to talk and read the papers and notices. However, to their surprise they found the place strangely silent and deserted. The few men there looked at Roger with suspicious surprise when for something to say, he asked for Citizen Brissot.

“How do you not know that he is at the Salle de Ménage? There is a most important meeting of the assembly,” one said.

“I have only come to the city today,” Roger replied. “I thought I might be useful in these perilous times. I am a gunsmith, but I do not know to whom to offer my services.”

His voice was perfectly calm and his face nearly expressionless, but Leonie, who was close beside him, saw a sheen of sweat on his temple, and his right hand was in his pocket where his pistol lay. She looked around for a movable object she could lift and throw to protect herself, but the bad moment passed.

“Ah,” the spokesman said, “you will be very welcome. Do you have guns? We need muskets.”

“I have a few, but not with me. One does not carry muskets around the streets. And mostly I have tools and parts for handguns.”

“That is reasonable,” the man agreed. “Where are you from?”

Roger knew better than to claim residence in the east. He would be suspected of fleeing the Prussians. “I am from Brittany,” he replied, “but I am French.”

“Ah.” That was a sound of satisfaction. “I thought your accent was strange. You are a good citizen to come. Where are you staying?”

“I have not yet found a place. You see, my wife is with me.”

The man peered past Roger. Leonie hung her head modestly, grateful for the voluminous ruffle of the cap that fell before her face. Feeling her tension, Fifi squirmed in her arms and growled softly.

“There is a café, not far.” The man drew a sheet of paper toward him. “What are your names?”

“Citoyen et Citoyenne Saintaire,” Roger replied. It had flashed through his mind to give a false name, but he only made his own into one word to avoid the chance it would sound too aristocratic divided. To abandon it completely seemed unnecessary and would subject him to the danger of failing to answer when he was spoken to. He could always change his name later, if it were necessary, since he had no papers of identification anyway.

“Here,” the man said, handing Roger the torn sheet. “Tell the landlord at the Café Breton that Lefranc sent you, and he will take you in. Return here tonight. Citizen Brissot or perhaps Vergniaud or Gaudet will be here to speak to you.”

Concealing his relief as well as he could, Roger drew Leonie out. They walked quickly in the direction pointed out to them before circling back toward the stable where the horse and carriage had been left.

“I don’t like this, not at all,” Roger said. “Everything is too quiet. It’s as if people were holding their breaths. I think we should try to get out. God knows what we will do if Lindsay is gone, but I have the feeling that Paris will be a very unhealthy place soon.”

Leonie could not object. She sincerely hoped that Lindsay would be gone, but she too felt the sense of waiting. They had the horse harnessed and then drove toward the western gate that led to Versailles. As they passed down the rue de Rivoli, Roger exclaimed. The brass plate of a lawyer he had dealt with for many years was still in place and, more importantly, still shone brightly with recent polishing. Roger pulled the horse to a halt.

“Fouché is still here,” he said. “He is one of the men I know, and I do not believe he would betray me even if France and England are on the brink of war. Shall I take a chance, Leonie, or do you just wish to leave as quickly as possible?”

“Let us try,” Leonie responded quickly. “Surely the few minutes it will take to see if he can help us will not be significant. And if he can give you money for the assignats, we will be much better off.”

The street seemed quiet. Roger set Leonie in the back of the carriage where she would not be seen and left her a cocked pistol while he went in. He did not expect her to hit anything if she was forced to fire, but the shot would bring him to her rescue. A few minutes later he came out again, accompanied by a clerk who now took over the job of holding the horse.

“Come with me, Leonie,” Roger said. “Fouché is here, and he will help us as much as he can, but I fear I have led you into a trap.”

“What kind of trap?”

“No one is to be allowed out of Paris. That is why it was so easy to come in. They do not care even if spies come in since they will not be able to get out again.”

Leonie absorbed that as they walked up the stairs. “But it cannot be for long, Roger,” she said finally. “It is quite mad. Trade will come to a standstill. People will starve. Sooner or later they must allow the people to move.”

“Certainly, in fact—” Roger stopped speaking as he opened the door for her. Maître Fouché rose from his chair, and Roger said, “Maître Fouché, let me present you to Lady Leonie de Conyers, daughter of the Earl of Stour. She has been living in France for some time, but in view of the situation here her people asked me to fetch her home. Unfortunately, I was not quite quick enough, and we have had some difficulties. I was just telling her that we seem to be trapped in Paris.”

“An honor, my lady,” Fouché said.

He did not inquire, Leonie noticed, why she had remained so long or where she came from. Clearly he realized she was an aristocrat on the run. Whether he was powerless to help and felt that ignorance of the true situation would be a protection for her or whether he simply did not wish to become entangled in something dangerous to himself, Leonie could not guess. She made the proper replies to his conventional remarks and then reintroduced the subject she had started.

Fouché smiled at her. “You are quite right, my lady, but you have not understood. It is not so much that no one will be permitted to leave—although even that may be true for a few days. To get out will require special permission, a passport signed by a special officer of the Commune of Paris. I have heard some very disquieting rumors. We—er—have ‘friends’ who sit in the gallery of the assembly, listen to the debates, and bring us news.”

“At the Girondist headquarters I was told there was a crucial debate going on right now.” Roger said.

“Yes, Danton—” Fouché looked around as if to be sure he was far enough from the open windows and then lowered his voice until Roger and Leonie had to lean forward to hear. “That monster, that traitor to his own kind, is calling for the seizure of ‘all traitors’. He means by that anyone who opposes him.”

“Do you not think we should try to leave before the debate ends?” Roger asked.

“No! Merciful heavens, no! They will regard as suspicious anyone who tries to leave. They will think you are fleeing from the Prussians and question you most severely.”

Roger laughed. “Probably we would be safer with the Prussians! Well then,” he added, sobering, “can you give me coin for these assignats? I know they are now worth virtually nothing, but I will repay the face value when I return to England. Whatever you can spare would be very helpful. If we have some money, we can stay in Paris for a few days and leave whenever—”

“I can give you money,” Fouché interrupted, “but you will need papers or protection, and I cannot give you that. I wish I could. Indeed, I wish it most sincerely, Monsieur St. Eyre, and I hope you believe that it is not fear of danger for myself that prevents me. My name is valueless to you. Although I am not actually suspect, as far as I know, my connection with the past government…”

“Do not distress yourself,” Roger said, “I think I know how to manage.” He told Fouché how he had pretended to be a gunsmith to disguise his purpose in traveling in France, then described the conversation he had had with Lefranc at the Girondist headquarters and showed Fouché the note Lefranc had given him. “If I voluntarily bring in the muskets I brought to support my role as gunsmith and offer them for the defense of France, I can probably get one of the deputies to give me a ‘certificate of residence’ or whatever is necessary. All I ask of you is that you admit you have done some trifling business for a Citizen Saintaire, that is the name I will use, from Rennes, if you are asked. You need not say you know me. In fact, that would not do either of us any good.”