In the Commodore's Hands (13 page)

They were escorted indoors and up to a bedchamber with much bowing and scraping and a promise that food and drink and washing water would be brought up to them. Sam took their portmanteaux and put them on a table at the foot of the big four-poster bed and went to leave
them. ‘I will meet you downstairs in the parlour in ten minutes,’ Jay told him.

‘Aye, aye, sir.’

As soon as he had gone Jay turned to Lisette. She was sitting on the bed, her hands in her lap. ‘They have brought your bag in here,’ she said dully.

‘Yes. I am sorry, Lisette, there has been a misunderstanding.’

‘There certainly has. When I begged to come with you, I did not mean this. And if you think…’

‘I don’t. Nothing was further from my thoughts. The innkeeper misunderstood.’

‘You were quick enough to take advantage.’

‘Only of the room, madam, not of you.’

‘Oh.’

‘I am going downstairs. I suggest you go to bed.’

He left her to go in search of Sam, who was enjoying a bowl of onion soup in the deserted dining room. ‘What did You tell the innkeeper about us?’

‘Only that we required rooms. You know my French. He must have jumped to the wrong conclusion.’

‘And left me in a fix. I shall have to explain she is not my wife and ask for another room…’

‘There isn’t one. I’m sharing with four others. Do you want to make a sixth?’

‘So you expect me to share a room with Miss Giradet, do you?’

Sam grinned. ‘Why not? What you do with it is your affair.’

‘Anyone but you would have been knocked down for his impertinence,’ Jay said. ‘Be thankful I need you to drive the carriage or you would be on your way back.’

‘Aside from that,’ Sam said, suddenly serious, ‘when we get to Paris, you will not be able to keep her presence a secret without locking her up and I doubt she’d stand for it.’

Jay admitted the truth of that. ‘So?’

‘Diplomats usually have wives. If you do not want to claim her as a mistress, then she could be Mrs Drymore.’

‘Impossible. I have no intention of marrying again.’

‘I was not suggesting you go through a marriage ceremony, but in Paris, who’s to know you have not? And it will be easier to protect her—no one would dare molest the wife of a British envoy.’

Jay was thoughtful; Sam did have a point and he wondered why he had not thought of it himself. Lisette Giradet seemed to drive rational
thought from him, but it was time he took command of the situation again. The innkeeper went to pass them with a heavily loaded tray. ‘Is that for us?’ he asked, nodding at it.

‘Oui, monsieur.’

‘I’ll take it.’ He stood up and relieved the man of the tray. ‘Sam, we will make an early start in the morning,’ he said, and took the tray up to the bedchamber he was to share with Lisette.

Lisette had used the warm water that had been brought to her to wash off the grime of travel and undressed for bed. She was sitting up against the pillows when there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was a waiter, she pulled the curtains about the bed and bade him come in. ‘Leave it on the table,’ she said.

She heard him put the tray down and go to the door. Opening the curtains, intending to go to the table and eat something, she was shocked to find Jay, who had simply gone to shut and lock the door, taking off his coat.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I am going to have supper. It smells good.’ He hung his coat over the back of a chair and pulled another out for her. ‘Come, you must be hungry.’

‘You can’t stay in here.’

‘I’ve nowhere else to go. You would not turn me out, would you?’

‘But it is unseemly.’

‘You should have thought of that before you stowed away. The whole adventure is unseemly, as you must have known.’

‘Yes, but I did not think…’

‘That is your trouble, Miss Giradet, you do not think. I recall you promised to be good if I brought you.’

‘Good, yes, wanton, no.’

‘Touche!’
He laughed. ‘Come and eat. You may trust me not to pounce on you.’

She eyed the tray with its gently steaming dishes, smelled the delicious aroma coming from them and hunger won. She wrapped one of the blankets about her and padded in bare feet to join him at the table.

‘This innkeeper seems able to keep a good table in hard times,’ she said. ‘The food at the places we had meals before were most unappetising.’

‘No doubt he has a hidden source of supplies and we will be charged accordingly. Let us be thankful for it and eat our fill.’ He ladled food on to a plate for her and then helped himself.
‘We have a long day ahead of us again tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow,’ she repeated. Before tomorrow came they had to spend the night in this room. Could she trust him to keep his promise? She had been in scrapes before, but nothing like this. If he did pounce on her, as he so inelegantly put it, would she fight him off? Did she even want to? If he loved her, she might welcome his advances, but to him she was an encumbrance, a hoyden, he had told her so. He still mourned a dead wife and was true to his vow not to marry again. But that did not mean he would not take a mistress, did it? Oh, she had no one but herself to blame for the pickle she was in.

‘Now let us have done with this cat-and-mouse bickering and make some serious decisions,’ he said when they had eaten and drunk their fill. ‘It is clear the innkeeper thinks you are my wife.’

‘You could have told him I was not.’

‘I could, but then he would have drawn his own conclusions to your detriment. Besides, I could see the advantages…’

‘I’ll wager you could.’

‘Do not be so waspish. Let me finish. If we
pretend to be man and wife, you will, as a British citizen by way of marriage, be safe from arrest, even if it is discovered who you really are—or were before you married me. You will be able to go out and about openly. Otherwise you will have to stay in hiding. You may not care for your reputation, but I certainly care for mine.’

‘I see.’ She paused. ‘But we don’t really marry.’

‘No, of course not. It is only a pretence for the duration of our stay.’

She could have wept. Torn between the disappointment of his rejection and thankfulness that he was thinking of her good name did not help her confusion. ‘So what happens tonight?’ she asked.

‘If you let me have one of your blankets, I will be quite comfortable on the floor.’

She took off the blanket she was wearing and gave it to him before retiring behind the bed curtain.

She could not sleep. He was fidgeting about on the other side of the curtain, trying to make himself comfortable, and it was a cold night; one blanket would not keep him warm. She lay there, wrestling with her conscience. He was uncomfortable because of her; he could be at
home in his own bed on a soft mattress with as many blankets as he needed, if he had not offered to help her. And even if he had come to France alone, he could have had this bed to himself.

‘Jay,’ she called softly. ‘Are you awake?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come here. There is plenty of room in this bed for two.’ She opened the curtains. A shaft of moonlight from the uncurtained window showed him sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, only partially covered by the blanket. He had not undressed beyond taking off his coat, waistcoat, neckcloth and shoes. ‘Come and get warm.’

‘Do you mean it?’

‘I would not have said it otherwise.’

He came to the bed, bringing his blanket with him. If he thought he was going to sleep next to her, she disabused him of that idea by putting a bolster down the bed between them. Thus, suitably separated, with three blankets covering them, they settled down for what was left of the night.

‘No one would ever believe this,’ he murmured as he fell asleep.

Lisette watched him, knowing she had irredeemably condemned herself in his eyes. The
worst of it was, she knew he did not want her, was not even tempted, and that was how it was going to be the whole time they were in France. She leaned over and gently kissed his cheek. ‘No, they wouldn’t,’ she whispered, then lay back with a sigh and closed her eyes.

T
he journey continued, each day the same as the one before. Day by day they looked out of the carriage windows on a landscape from which all crops, if there had ever been any, had been gathered, where the people shuffled rather than walked and often spat on the carriage as it passed, shouting,
‘À bas les aristos!’

Now and again they were able to find fresh horses and at the end of each day they ate in the dining room of whatever inn could accommodate them, sleeping in the same room, sometimes in the same bed, though more often Jay chose a chair and a footstool and woke with a stiff neck. It seemed to Lisette that this journey would never end, that they were destined to plod through France for ever, so close and
yet so far apart. Superficially they had come to know each other well, but on a deeper level he was as much of an enigma as ever.

The coach was prone to breaking down and it took all Sam’s ingenuity to find tools and materials to repair it, but repair it he did, and on they went. By now Jay and Lisette had little to say to each other—both were weary and disinclined to put into words what they expected, what they hoped, would happen at the end of the journey. Pontoise had been their last night stop before entering Paris and they set off next morning knowing that for good or ill their adventure was reaching another stage.

They knew they had arrived in Paris when they were stopped by a long queue at a barrier. Rather than make another stop so near their destination, they had elected to drive through the night and were tired and grubby. Lisette longed for a bath and a comfortable bed, one in which she was not haunted by the sound of Jay fidgeting a few feet away, but here they waited while everyone was questioned and searched by armed men in makeshift uniforms. Some were let through, others taken off screaming because contraband had been found in their possession. Gradually Sam drew the coach to a stop at the
pole which had been placed across the road to prevent them advancing.

Jay had his papers ready. ‘Commodore John Drymore and Mrs Drymore,’ he said. ‘British Envoy to the National Convention.’ He had been saying it all along their route and had become so used to it, the lie slipped easily from his tongue.

His papers were inspected and puzzled over for several minutes before the guard decided it would be prudent to let him through. The barrier was lifted and Sam drove the tired horses into the city. They arrived in the middle of a riot.

It was some time since Jay had been in the city and he was appalled by the change which had taken place. Once-grand mansions and palaces, standing cheek by jowl with tumbledown hovels, had been deserted by their noble occupants and were already showing signs of neglect. The streets were filthy and kennels running down their middles ran slowly with their load of detritus. Paris, which had once been beautiful, the centre of fashion and manners, had been changed into a melting pot, a noisome stew of discontent.

Crowds of people of both sexes and all ages rushed through the streets, brandishing whatever weapons they could find: stolen muskets and picks, lumps of wood and stones torn up
from the cobbles. They were breaking into food stores and helping themselves to whatever they could find. A contingent of National Guard was helpless against them and did not even try. Carts containing produce for the market were overturned and their contents looted. Sam used his whip freely to left and right to force a way through as the carriage was rocked by the press of bodies. Lisette, thoroughly frightened, clung to Jay, who put his arm protectively round her.

They made their way through at last and made for what had been the residence of the British Ambassador. There was no one to greet them but a housekeeper by the name of Madame Gilbert, who told them she could also cook for them, and an oddjob man called Albert Mouchon. The wages of both were being paid by the British Government and, as they were generous, the pair had chosen to stay where they felt safe. Jay took possession and sent Sam out with
madame
to buy provisions and ordered the man to light fires in the salon, the dining room and three bedrooms. Outside they could still hear the tumult, but it was far enough away not to bother them.

‘The population are blaming the food shortages on hoarders and shopkeepers keeping
goods back for those who can afford to pay exorbitant prices,’ Sam said when he returned and all three, washed and changed into clean clothes, were sitting at the dining table eating a hastily prepared meal which, though frugal, had cost Sam hundreds of their
assignats
. ‘The women are furious over the food shortages and are blaming hoarders. They are far more vociferous than the men. Thousands of men are being conscripted for the army and that’s another grievance they have. Without their menfolk they have lost their breadwinners.’

‘It will die down by tomorrow,’ Jay said. ‘We do not need to go out any more today. I for one could sleep the clock round.’

‘Me, too,’ Sam said, making Lisette realise she had had the better of their journey because Jay had always made sure she slept in a bed and she could doze in the carriage if she could ignore the jolting over the uneven roads, while he had perforce to stay alert against possible attack by the mob who saw a carriage as a sign of wealth. As for Sam, he had had the task of driving them and it could not have been easy, and where he had slept each night she did not know. The crowded hotels often crammed half-a-dozen sleepers into one room, sometimes into one bed.

‘Tomorrow I will visit the Assembly and speak to Monsieur Pierre Martin,’ Jay told them. ‘He is to be my go-between with the French government.’

‘What about Michel?’ Lisette put in.

Jay turned to her. ‘I need to find out how things stand officially with members of the court, whether they are under arrest or able to move about freely. And I must at least appear to be doing our Government’s business.’

‘Is that all? Every day we delay could be crucial to Michel’s safety, surely you realise that after what we have witnessed today.’

‘It will do no good making a nuisance of ourselves. As soon as I know how the land lies we can plan a course of action.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing! You would have me sit here all day with nothing to do but worry.’

‘Lisette,’ he said patiently, while Sam decided to make himself scarce by clearing away the dishes, ‘I did not ask you to come with me. I would much rather you had stayed at home, or at least remained on board the yacht. Now you are here, will you please do as I say?’

‘Like the dutiful wife I am supposed to be,’ she said waspishly.

‘Yes.’

‘But I am not your wife.’

‘No.’ It was said quietly.

Sam had come back with a bottle of Calvados and some glasses, which he put on the table in front of Jay. Lisette stood up. ‘I will leave you to your brandy, Commodore.’

The look on Jay’s face when he had said that one word, ‘No’, had told her it would not be a comfortable evening if she stayed. She toiled up to her room and sat on a chair by the window. It was an effort not to think about Jay and what he thought of her, but they had come to France with a definite goal and she would be better employed contemplating that rather than eating her heart out for a man who considered her nothing but a nuisance. Michel must come first.

He was surely still at the Tuileries Palace and all they had to do was go there and find him. If he was being watched as he had written he was, then they must find some subterfuge for smuggling him out of the palace, out of the city and out of the country. Jay knew that, knew how worried and impatient she was, so why was he prevaricating? Was he more interested in his errand for the British Government than his promise to her? It was up to her to do something to expedite matters. Nothing could be done that
day, while the streets were still seething with angry humanity and, besides, she was too tired to think clearly. She took off all her clothes and climbed into bed. It was soft and warm and she was soon asleep and did, indeed, almost sleep the clock round.

When she rose next morning, Jay had already left the house and her breakfast was served to her by Madame Gilbert. Where Sam was she did not know, but assumed he was with Jay. It meant they trusted her not to go out. More fool them.

As soon as she had finished eating she put a warm burnous over the green skirt and laced bodice she wore and set off on foot for the Tuileries. The riots had died down, but there were overturned carts still littering the streets and broken glass from shop windows. And there were bodies swinging from some of the lamp posts, strung up there by the pulleys the lamplighters used. She shuddered and passed on.

The Tuileries, as she expected, was guarded and she was stopped and asked her business. ‘I carry a petition to The National Convention from my home village,’ she said.

‘And where might that be?’ The man was not
unfriendly. Petitions were a daily occurrence and the petitioners usually allowed to pass.

‘Villarive. We need our menfolk for the cider making and they are all being conscripted.’

The man laughed and waved her on. ‘You had better join the queue, then.’

She went in the direction he had indicated towards the Salle du Manage, which was on the north side of the Tuileries Gardens. It had been home to the royal equestrian academy and because it was the largest indoor space in the city, it was where the Convention did its business. Here were lines of people waiting to be heard. Lisette attached herself to the end of one line, but as soon as the guard had turned his attention elsewhere, she pulled her shawl over her head and set off for the Palace and Michel’s rooms.

He was not there. Her disappointment was profound; why she had expected to find him there, she did not know. The King was in prison, so where was Michel? Had they come too late and he had joined his monarch in the Temple? She stood undecided, wondering whether to make her way to that forbidding fortress with its huge, impenetrable walls, when she saw Auguste hurrying along the corridor. She dashed after him.

‘Auguste, wait.’

He turned at the sound of his name. ‘Mademoiselle Giradet, what are you doing here?’ He was thin as a rake, hollow-eyed and badly dressed, nothing like the immaculate man she had known. ‘I heard you were safe in England.’

‘I came back for Michel. Where is he?’

‘You are too late. He was arrested two days ago.’

‘Oh, no. Why? On what charge?’

‘Do they need a charge?’ the man said. ‘It is enough that he served the King. You must leave. You are wanted yourself for breaking your father out of prison and so is your brother for aiding and abetting.’

‘Michel had nothing to do with that. He was here in Paris. You can testify to it.’

‘Me? Oh, no! I do not fancy losing my head to that awful contraption. It is waiting for you, too, if you stay here. You should never have come back. Henri Canard is after your blood. And your brother’s. He went to Villarive after the King was arrested, expecting to live quietly at home, but Canard was there, lording it in the château as if he owned it. They fought, but Canard has many friends, and your brother had to flee for his life. He came back here and was immediately arrested.’

‘Where is he being held?’

Auguste shrugged. ‘I do not know. I am preparing to leave myself while I can. If I were you, I would make all haste to return to England. You cannot do anything for your brother.’

She turned and left him and made her way back the way she had come, all five senses at fever pitch in case she was recognised. Being so like her brother had its disadvantages. People were coming and going along the corridors, all going about their business and trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. She could smell fear all around her. Her thoughts turned to Jay, who was doing his best to help her and who had trusted her not to do anything foolish while he was out; he would be furious with her for this. That is if she managed to return to the Embassy without being arrested herself. In that event he would never know what had happened to her. No doubt he would wash his hands of her and go home, and who could blame him? She pulled up the hood of her cloak and kept her head down.

Glad to be out in the fresh air again, she took a deep breath and made for the main gate. The same guard was there. ‘You did not take long,’ he said, recognising her. ‘How did you manage it?’

‘The queue was too long. I decided to try again another day.’

‘It will not be any shorter tomorrow.’

‘Perhaps. If so, I may not bother.’

‘Very wise.’ He waved her on.

She was out in the street again, safely merging with the populace. Where next? She turned and walked along the river bank to the Rue du Temple and made her way along it to the Temple and stood outside, wondering if Michel were inside with the Royal family. There were two distinct buildings: a palace and a tower, a forbidding square edifice, surrounded by four round turrets which the King had once used to imprison those who had offended him. Now he was the one to be incarcerated. Plucking up her courage, she took a step forwards, only to have her arm seized.

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’

She squirmed round, but she already knew who held her. Jay was looking very annoyed and very determined. ‘I was only going to ask if Michel is there,’ she told him.

‘He is not. Louis is not allowed to have any of his old retainers with him.’ He turned her round to walk back the way she had come. She did not resist.

‘He has been arrested, his valet told me so.’

‘So that was what you were doing at the Palace.’

Mr Roker must have followed her, or Albert Mouchon, ordered to do so by Jay, who did not trust her, after all. ‘I wonder you did not think of enquiring there yourself.’

‘Oh, but I did. Michel was arrested for assaulting a Deputy, one by the name of Henri Canard, and for assisting in the escape of the
ci-devant
Comte Giradet. He is in La Force.’ La Force, situated in the Rue du Roi Sicile, was one of the many prisons in Paris.

‘Who told you that? Auguste said he did not know where he was.’