In the Commodore's Hands (20 page)

Lisette let herself in the Embassy and hurried up to her bedchamber, fetched out the masculine clothes she had bought earlier and stood
breathing deeply to calm herself. Then she stripped off her own clothes, put on the shirt, breeches and stockings and her new blue-silk gown over them, lacing the bodice tightly over the shirt. She had planned to put the coat over that, but it was much too tight and she abandoned it; Michel would be wearing a coat and she could use that. Taking the scissors to her hair, she cut it to the length Michel wore his and tied it back with a length of thin black ribbon.

That done, she sat down to write a letter to Jay. That was the most difficult part of the whole proceeding. It was damp with tears by the time it was done. Having signed it and dusted it, she tucked it into the top of her bodice. Then she pulled another sheet of paper towards her, sat a moment with her pen poised over it, wondering what to write. Smiling to herself, she folded it and inscribed the outside with Mr Wentworth’s name. Finally she slipped into her own shoes, stood up and looked in the mirror at a woman laced too tightly into a gown that appeared too small for her. A man’s shirt filled the square
décolletage
and its sleeves protruded from the sleeves of the gown. If it had been a game she was playing she might have laughed at the apparition, but this was in deadly earnest. Topping this strange ensemble with her
burnous, she went downstairs to seek out Madame Gilbert.

‘If the gentleman who was here yesterday should call after we have left, will you give him this?’ she said, handing her the second of her missives. ‘Do not give it to him before that.’

‘Oui,
madame
. Am I also to shut up the house?’

‘Yes. We will not be needing it again.’ She retrieved a bundle of
assignats
from her purse and gave them to her. ‘We are grateful for the trouble you have taken to look after us.’ And with that she left the house for the last time. There was no time for regrets, no time for anything except to go back to the Palais de Justice and her
rendezvous
with her fate. Outside she stopped. Go in or turn away? It was the decision of a lifetime because whatever happened as a result of what she did now, it would colour the rest of her life, however long or short that might be. Regret or gladness, remorse or satisfaction that she had done what was right? Did she have a choice? Could she let them all die? She took a deep breath and made her way into the building.

Her uncle was waiting for her in the anteroom just where they had met before and for
one heart-stopping moment she wondered if he had never left and the whole thing had been a trick. ‘You have courage, I will give you that,’ he said. ‘I was afraid you would persuade Drymore to leave at once.’

‘And leave my brother behind? You do not know me very well, if you thought that, sir.’

‘Then he means more to you than your husband.’

She let that pass. It was her deep love of both that was the driving force behind what she did now. ‘You have permission for me to see Michel?’

‘Yes.’ He handed her a sheet of paper signed by Danton. ‘The list?’

‘It has been left with the
concierge
at the Embassy with instructions to give it to you after we have left.’

‘You do not trust me.’

‘I am simply being cautious.’

He laughed. ‘Touché. Come with me, then.’

He led the way across The floor and through a door on the far side, along a series of corridors and down two flights of stairs. The grandeur of the upper rooms was left behind and there was nothing but bare stone walls and worn stone steps, lit only by lamps in brackets at intervals which only made a small pool of light in their
immediate vicinity. The deeper they went the colder it became and Lisette shivered.

At the bottom they were stopped by an armed guard in front of a barred gate. From beyond it a babble of voices reached them and the stench of putrid food and unwashed bodies. ‘The
citoyenne
has permission to see and speak to the prisoner Giradet,’ Wentworth said in poor French.

Whether the man could read or not, Lisette did not know, but he certainly recognised Danton’s signature on the paper she showed him. ‘Come with me,’ he said, taking a bunch of keys from his belt and unlocking the gate.

‘You will forgive me if I do not come with you,’ Wentworth said, putting his handkerchief to his nose. ‘Urgent business elsewhere.’ To the guard he said, ‘She may have ten minutes alone with him, then send her back up to me. I shall be waiting in the foyer.’ And with that he scuttled away.

Lisette smiled, glad she did not have to suggest he might prefer not to go any further. She followed the guard along a corridor and down more steps, and with each step the noise grew louder and the stench stronger. She was more convinced than ever that no one could ever be rescued from there. She found herself in a
long room lined with cages, each of which was filled with humanity, men, women and even little children. Some who had been there the longest were filthy and dressed in rags; the more recent arrivals still wore the finery they had on when brought there. As the warder and Lisette passed them hands reached out to her, some in supplication, others to grab at her cloak. Some to swear, some to moan. She had eyes for none of them, being more concerned with searching out her brother.

‘Giradet!’ The turnkey shouted. ‘Giradet, come forwards.’

There was a general movement in the far cell as people made way for a ragged skeleton to come to the front. The turnkey unlocked the cage and pushed Lisette inside. She turned back to him in consternation. ‘I am not to be locked in here and I am to speak to the prisoner privately.’

‘You may make what privacy you can there,’ he said. ‘When you have had enough, let me know and I will escort you back.’

Lisette turned to face her brother. She hardly recognised him. He was thin, his face grey, his eyes lifeless and his hair matted. Her heart sank; this was not going to be as easy as she
had thought. Michel was staring at her in disbelief. ‘You too, Lissie,’ he murmured.

‘No, I am not a prisoner and you will not be for much longer, but you must listen to me.’ She took his arm and almost dragged him into a corner. ‘Can these people be trusted?’

‘Depends what you have in mind.’

She turned to a woman in a faded pink dress and a girl of about thirteen whom she supposed to be the woman’s daughter. She did not think they had been incarcerated long; neither was as thin or ill kempt as the rest. She held out a handful of
assignats
, knowing the money could buy extra food and comforts and perhaps even a good lawyer. ‘Will you stand guard?’

The woman snatched the money and stuffed it in the top of her stays and took up a stance between Lisette and the rest of the cell’s occupants. Lisette took off her burnous and handed it to the woman, who beckoned to the girl to hold one side of it to make a screen. Everyone else began to laugh, imagining what might be going on behind the cloak. Well, let them laugh, she did not mind that.

Michel was standing with his back to the wall in a kind of daze. Lisette smiled at him and reached over to kiss his cheek. ‘We are going to change places, you and I,’ she whispered. ‘Take
off your coat.’ She began undoing the bodice of her gown as she spoke. ‘Remember the games we played as children when we pretended to be each other to deceive our friends? You are going out of here as me.’

‘And leave you behind! Never!’ It was said vehemently in a hoarse whisper.

‘There is no risk. I am to stay here for an hour or two after you are gone, then someone will come and let me out. Have no fear.’

‘Who? Who has the power to do that except those monsters who put me in here?’

‘My husband is an envoy of the British Government and has a great deal of influence here in Paris. They will let me go.’

‘Are you sure of that?’

‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘I am certain. The French Government cannot afford to make an enemy of the British. They have too much to lose.’

Once the lacing of her gown had been undone, she was able to take it off; the petticoat underneath was easy to step out of, leaving her dressed in a man’s shirt and breeches. Trusting her, he removed his once-fine coat of burgundy silk, which was now filthy and torn, and Lisette helped him into the petticoat and gown and laced the bodice.

‘Now put the cloak round you and keep the
hood up,’ she murmured. ‘You are Mrs Drymore, remember, and expect to be treated with respect, but don’t speak unless you have to. If you see an Englishman, flamboyantly dressed, on the way, avoid him at all costs. He is our uncle, but he is not to be trusted. Go to the British Embassy and wait for my husband to come. Give him this.’ She tucked her letter to Jay down the front of his bodice. ‘It will prove I have sent you. And this is the permit for Madame Drymore to visit the prisoner, Giradet. You may need it.’ She gave him her gloves. ‘Better wear these, too, or your hands will give you away.’ Then she slipped his ragged coat over the breeches she wore and the transformation was complete. ‘I will come to the gate with you.’

‘Better not,’ the woman said suddenly. ‘You are altogether too clean and well fed. Better crouch against the wall and put your head in your hands in despair. I will summon the turnkey.’

The occupants of the cell watched the woman and Michel make their way over to the gate. Lisette did not think they were deceived for a minute, but no one raised a voice in betrayal. Everyone of them would have taken advantage
of such a means of freedom had they been offered it.

The turnkey came slowly along the corridor when he was summoned and unlocked the gate. ‘Had enough, have you?’ he leered, because Michel was holding the edge of his hood to his face.

As Lisette watched, Michel’s whole demeanour changed and he became her; he had not forgotten their childish game which had always ended in laughter. No one was laughing now, even the occupants of the cell had stopped their ribaldry. Accompanied by the turnkey, he walked away, past the other cages and up the stone stairs and was lost to her sight. She did not have to pretend her despair. It enveloped her like the cloak she had wrapped around her brother’s slight frame, it swamped her like a great tide running in from the sea, it overcame the euphoria of her success and left her in tears.

Jay’s optimism lasted no longer than his walk to the Embassy. Mrs Drymore had come in and gone out again, Madame Gilbert told him.

He swore under his breath. ‘Did she say when she would be back? Did she leave a message for me?’

‘Not for you, sir, but she left one for her gentleman visitor.’

‘Give it to me.’

His stony face and angry eyes told her it would be wise to obey. She went and fetched it for him.

He broke the seal and unfolded it. If he expected a list of names, he was wrong. The paper was blank. He was puzzled for a moment and then began to laugh. His laughter was verging on hysterical and the
concierge
became alarmed.

‘Sir?’ she queried.

‘Oh, do not mind me,
madame.’
He refolded the letter and handed it back to her. ‘When did my wife expect her visitor to come for this?’

‘She did not say, but to give it to him after you had left this evening.’

‘I see. Thank you,
madame.’

She turned to go, changed her mind and turned back. ‘Sir, there was another thing…’

‘Go on.’

‘When we went shopping for clothes,
madame
bought a man’s suit of clothes—for her brother, she told me—but this afternoon I noticed she was wearing the breeches herself under her cloak. I saw her legs as she came down the stairs. And she had cut her hair.’

He groaned, knowing perfectly well what it meant. ‘How long ago was this?’

‘Half an hour, maybe a little longer.’

‘If she comes back, tell her to get in the carriage when it comes for us and not to wait for me, do you understand?’

‘Yes,
monsieur.’

He turned on his heel and went out. He was almost running as he made his way along the river bank and up Rue St Antoine to the Rue du Roi Sicile. He had to catch her before she reached La Force, knowing what she intended. It was madness, utter madness. He was angry, angry with Lisette for her foolhardiness, even more angry with Wentworth who was using Lisette to destroy him, but most of all angry with himself for assuming she was like Marianne and not to be trusted. She was nothing like Marianne, who thought only of herself, loved only herself. Lisette loved her father and brother with the kind of single-minded, selfless devotion his dead wife had been incapable of. If only she could spare some of it for him, but why should she? He had been at fault for not taking her into his confidence and explaining exactly how they were going to free Michel. If he had done so, and if he had told her the whole truth about Marianne, she would not have trusted
Wentworth and this whole sorry mess could have been avoided.

Not until his flying feet took him within sight of the prison did he stop. There was no sign of Lisette. A few people moved up and down the street, a one-legged man sat in the gutter begging, a child played with a hoop, a skinny dog foraged in the gutter down the centre of the street. The door of the prison was shut and apart from the sentries there was no activity in the yard. He looked about him and caught sight of Sam, who was hurrying away from the prison. Jay shouted at him to stop.

Sam turned to wait for him to catch up with him. ‘Commodore, our plans have been set at naught,’ he said. ‘I am on my way to tell the others.’

‘Never mind that. have you seen Mrs Drymore?’

‘Miss Giradet, sir? No, I have not.’

‘She hasn’t come along here or gone into the prison?’

‘No, why should she? Her brother ain’t there.’

‘Not there?’

‘That’s what I were going to tell you. He’s been moved to that place on the island where the trials are held.’

‘The Conciergerie. Oh, my God! That’s
where she is.’ He slapped his forehead with his palm in an effort to untangle emotions which threatened to engulf him and think clearly. ‘Go and tell the others I think Lisette has gone to the prison to change places with her brother. I cannot, for the life of me, see her succeeding. She will be arrested in the attempt. We must stop her. There is not a moment to lose.’